


a man who cried for a love

by laminy



Series: and i want you to know (that my feelings are true) [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018)
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 21:32:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17251754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laminy/pseuds/laminy
Summary: The more time Roger spends with their new bassist, the more he falls for him. But he's sure John doesn't feel the same, and insists on trying to hide his feelings so he doesn't threaten the band (Brian figures it out anyway).





	a man who cried for a love

The crowd is a bit more impressed with them by the end of the gig than they were at the beginning, and Roger stands up behind his kit, waving his drum sticks in thanks. He watches Freddie dramatically bowing to what seems like every person standing at the stage, and smiles in amusement as he glances over to Brian, who seems more than a little bit annoyed at the moment. Roger thinks it was a pretty decent show, all told, but he knows that Brian is currently talking to himself, formulating what to say to Freddie once they’re all alone. He wonders if he’s going to have to talk Brian down.

He starts packing up his kit, not his favourite part of any gig, but he’s done it so often now that it doesn’t really take that much time at all. It looks like Freddie won’t be bothering to help, he’s off chatting to a pretty blonde girl in the audience, who’s smiling brightly up at him, but now they’ve got John. Roger looks over at their newest, youngest member with a smile on his face. 

John’s just carrying his case and his amp, and he sees Roger looking at him. “Can I help?” he asks, walking over.

Roger shrugs, but he’s secretly pleased. “Yeah, if you’ve got a sec.”

“Well, you’re my ride, aren’t you?” John asks, and when Roger looks up at him, he’s got a big smile on his face.

“Fair enough,” Roger replies. He tosses John the keys to the van. “Go throw your bass in and then run back, yeah?”

John looks down at the keys, feeling sort of impressed that Roger trusts him with them already, then nods. “Be right back.”

Brian walks over, his case in hand, watching Roger but not making a move to help him.

“Yes?” Roger asks, not even looking up.

“We have to talk to Freddie,” Brian says, and Roger sighs.

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Well, do you think I’m wrong?” Brian asks.

Roger straightens up, still working on his kit. “No, Brian, not wrong.”

“But?”

Roger shrugs. “I don’t know, I just don’t want you to scare him off with one of your lectures. He can sing, is all. He’s better than Tim ever was. Fucking Humpy Bong.”

“Yes, he’s a great singer,” Brian agrees. “He just sings the wrong lyrics.”

“Bye Roger!” they both hear from the crowd, and Roger turns to wherever the voice came from, waving, with a big smile on his face.

Brian rolls his eyes and sighs. “Bloody hell,” he mutters to himself.

“Sorry, what was that?” Roger asks.

“Nothing,” Brian replies, and Roger goes back to his kit. “Anyway, are you going to talk to him, or am I?”

“I think we both know it’s going to be you,” Roger replies, and then when he looks back up, John is standing beside Brian, his hands now empty. 

“Can I help?” John asks again, looking between the two of them.

“Yes, _thank you_ ,” Roger says, pointedly looking at Brian, who just rolls his eyes and walks off, presumably to go find Freddie, who’s still talking to the girl.

“What’s the matter?” John asks. “He seems upset.”

Roger shakes his head. “He’s fine, he’s just being Brian.” He looks at John, as if just remembering something. “You’ll figure that out in a bit.”

“Was it me?” John asks quietly.

“Was what you?” Roger asks, handing John his bass drum.

John shrugs. “Whatever ticked Brian off. I thought maybe I messed up on _Keep Yourself Alive_ …though I admit, I was almost smacked in the face by a microphone at the time, so it wasn’t entirely my fault.”

Roger laughs loudly as they start moving through the back of the pub, carrying his drums with them. “Don’t worry, Deaky, Brian’s just a little worried about Freddie.”

“And you’re sure?” John asks. “That was okay? I know I could use more practice—”

“We could _all_ use more practice,” Roger assures him. “Don’t worry about it, you were brilliant.” They arrive at the van, and he glances at John, who doesn’t seem to know what he’s waiting for, until Roger sets his drums down and puts his hand out.

“Oh!” John shifts the drum in his arms, and digs the keys out of his pocket, handing them over to Roger. 

“Anyway, did you have a good time?” Roger asks, unlocking the van, stepping out of the way for John to put the bass in the back.

“Yeah,” John nods, “it was great. I think we’re pretty good.” He leans down to help Roger lift the drums inside, then they turn around to walk back to the pub together for the rest of his kit. “Thanks for…” he sighs and waves his hand between them, “you know, letting me play.”

“Well, thanks for playing. We needed it.”

The two of them carry the rest of Roger’s drums back out to the van. As Roger moves them around the back, arranging them just so, John sits down, leaning against the door. Roger grins and drops down beside him, lifting one of his feet up, resting his arm on his knee. He’ll wait for Brian for a few more minutes, before going in to tell him to hurry up or he’s walking.

The two of them sit quietly together, watching as other students filter out of the pub, walking past the van in the parking lot. Roger glances over at John, who’s just smiling and drumming his fingers against his thigh. Roger starts to think that John almost looks sort of pretty from this angle, but before he can pay it any mind, a couple of girls appear almost suddenly in front of them. He knows he knows them, but fuck if he knows either of their names. He’s fairly certain he’s only hooked up with one of them…maybe.

“Hi Roger,” one of them says, and it’s not the one Roger was thinking of, but he just smiles brightly, giving her a nod. 

“Cheers,” he says.

“That was a great show,” the other one says, and Roger smiles at her too. They’re both cute enough.

“Thanks,” Roger says. He drops his foot back down to the ground, and turns to John. “This is John Deacon, our new bassist.”

“Hi,” John says, and he stands up, offering each of the girls his hand. Roger just watches with amusement as they exchange pleasantries. He catches their names, but he’s not entirely sure he recognizes either of them. Whoops.

“What are you up to now, Roger?” one of them asks, and Roger glances over at John, who just swallows hard and sits back down, looking at his hands, folded on his lap.

“Taking Deaky home,” Roger replies, reaching out to grasp John’s shoulder. John looks up at him in surprise, a smile on his face. “And the other lads too, if they ever show up.”

“Oh,” the girls says flatly, and she glances at her friend, not bothering to hide her disappointment.

Roger isn’t quite sure what to say, but then he sees Brian walking out of the pub, guitar case in hand, walking towards the van. He stands up, and raises his arm in greeting. “Brian!” he says loudly. 

Brian stops where he’s walking, taking in the scene in front of him, narrowing his eyes at Roger before continuing towards the van. “Freddie’s going home with Mary,” he says, sliding his case into the back beside John’s.

“Who’s Mary?” Roger asks, and Brian just shrugs. “Anyway ladies, sorry to leave you, but we’re gonna head out now. Catch you later.” He smiles politely, and then shuts one of the doors. John stands up, and shuts the one beside him.

The girls don’t say anything to him, just glance at each other, and then walk off.

“What was that about?” Brian asks, looking at Roger curiously.

“What do you mean?” Roger asks.

Brian rolls his eyes. “I thought I was just about to walk into a foursome.”

John coughs loudly beside him, bringing his hand up to his mouth.

“You alright there, John?” Brian asks, glancing over.

John nods quickly, looking back and forth between Roger and Brian. “Sor— sorry. Must’ve went down the wrong pipe.”

Roger grins, reaching out to clasp onto John’s shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. “You’re alright, mate.” He swings the keys on his finger, walking to the driver’s side.

Roger and Brian live closest to each other, so Roger drives to John’s first, pulling the van up, Brian flinching when he feels the tire hit the curb. “Oh settle down,” Roger mutters, turning back to watch John climb out of the van. “You alright, mate?” he asks.

“Yep!” John calls, walking around to the back to grab his bass and his amp. He slams the door behind him and then walks up alongside the van, stopping at Roger’s window. “Thanks again,” he says.

Brian leans forward so he can see John past Roger. “Are you free tomorrow?”

John tucks his hair behind his ear, thinking. “I have to work on a paper, but yeah, I can do a couple hours?”

“Great, Rog will be ‘round to pick you up around two.”

Roger glances back at Brian, who shrugs.

“Cheers, thanks Rog,” John says brightly, then gives the two of them a wave. “Have a good night, guys.”

“Night, Deaky,” Roger says, and he watches John turn and walk up to the front door. Brian clears his throat after a long moment. “Alright, alright, settle down,” Roger mutters, turning the key in the ignition. “Okay, so what’d you and Freddie talk about?”

“He thinks he did just wonderful, _darling_ ,” Brian replies, “don’t worry about a thing as silly as _lyrics_.”

Roger laughs softly. “I think it was pretty good, honestly.”

Brian shrugs. “Yeah, it was alright.”

“Okay, Brian,” Roger says, “no need to sound _so_ impressed. People liked it!”

“I just know we can do better, that’s all,” Brian explains. “Maybe if you stayed a bit more focused on the drums…”

“Excuse you?” Roger asks. “Maybe if _I_ — maybe if you lightened up a bit! We’re not playing for the bloody Prime Minister, Brian, we’re just having a bit of fun at the uni pub. I can’t help if it I have fans,” he smirks.

“Ugh, what a load of bullocks."

“Do you want to walk or what?” Roger asks, threateningly pressing down on the brake. “I’ll throw the bloody Fireplace in the streets if you don’t watch it.”

Brian rolls his eyes; he’s used to Roger’s empty threats against the guitar by now. Roger’s got a nasty temper sometimes but Brian knows even he’s not dumb enough to actually touch his instrument.

“Anyway,” Roger says after a moment, pulling up in front of Brian’s place. “What do you think of Deaky?”

Brian doesn’t say anything for a moment. “He’s alright.”

“Ouch.”

“What?” Brian asks. “He’s a bit young, isn’t he? He’s quite good, yeah, but he could be better. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I told him he was great.”

Brian sighs. “Of _course_ you did.”

“What does that mean?”

Brian climbs out of the van, going around to the back to grab his guitar case. “Pick me up at two tomorrow.”

“Wait, what did you mean?” Roger asks, sticking his head out of the window, watching Brian walk away.

“Don’t be late!” Brian calls behind him, not bothering to glance back.

Roger watches Brian until he’s in his building, then he sits back in his seat. What the fuck is Brian on about this time?

\+ + + + +

Roger smiles politely at the girl he assumes is Mary, who’s sitting on the small couch beside Freddie when the three of them walk into their small practice space. He sets down one of his drums, then steps aside to let Brian and John walk by him.

“You’re late,” Freddie says, hopping off the couch, walking over to Roger.

“Sorry, my fault,” John says, setting down his amp.

“Oh,” Freddie says, studying John, then he shrugs. “Well, that’s alright, dear.”

John smiles brightly, looking over at Roger, who’s just staring at Freddie in mock surprise, his mouth hanging open.

“So it’s alright if it’s Deaky then?” Roger asks, starting to laugh. “Is anyone going to help me with my drums?”

“Did you ever think about taking up a smaller instrument?” John asks, and Roger laughs loudly.

“Fair enough, mate,” Roger says, and he walks back out to the van, but after setting down his bass, John quickly follows after him.

Roger smiles. He likes John being in the band already. They carry his drums in, and Roger starts setting up.

“Can you show me?” John asks, standing nearby. “How they all go together?”

“Yeah, sure,” Roger says, stepping aside so John can watch. 

“How long have you played?” John asks.

“A few years,” Roger replies. “Ten? Yeah, something like that.”

“Brilliant,” John says softly. He sits down behind the kit, and Roger smiles. 

“You look like a proper drummer,” Roger says, adjusting the bass drum. “So, this first,” he says.

“Who taught you?” John asks, watching Roger set up his hi-hat.

Roger drops his eyes, and shrugs. “No one, really.”

“No one at all?” John asks.

Roger shakes his head, and he moves beside John to make sure the snare is in the right place. “Never had a lesson,” he says. “Taught myself. Do alright, I guess. Don’t ever write any music for me, because I won’t read it.” He laughs softly. “Brian will tell you I’m not technically very good.”

John glances over at Brian, who’s sitting on a stool across the room, tuning his guitar, eyes closed, looking thoughtful. “That’s rubbish, you’re brilliant!” He looks down at Roger, who crouches down by his pedals. He swallows hard, watching Roger for a moment before looking away.

Roger puts his hand on John’s knee to brace himself as he pushes himself back up. John smiles up at him, and curls his fingers into his thigh. Roger looks around, and then hands John his sticks.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” John asks.

“Uh.” Roger tilts his head to the side and grins, then mimes drumming. “What do you think?”

“Oh, I can’t!” John says, laughing. “I’ve never drummed before.”

“Well, I know you can handle the bass at least,” Roger says, and he moves to stand behind John. “Come on, have a go.”

John laughs again, shaking his head. “I can’t, I’ll look like a bloody idiot.”

“Join the club,” Roger says. “You know I actually taught drumming? Can’t believe I got paid for it.”

“God, alright,” John mutters, and he sticks his leg out, then adjusts his seat, moving closer to the kit. “I’m going to make you hate the drums,” he says, his foot on the bass pedal.

“Ugh, they’re awful things, aren’t they?” Roger asks, smiling. “Absolutely ridiculous. Drummers, all idiots. Start on the hi-hat.” He reaches down and takes John’s right wrist in his hand, then guides him over to it. “Just there, on one-and-two-and-three-and-four-and.” Roger taps his foot to the beat, and grins as John starts playing along. “There we go, don’t speed up.”

“I can keep time,” John says, but he laughs anyway, and is keeping all his focus on the drum. 

“Oh, can you?” Roger asks, and he starts snapping his fingers by John’s ear. 

“I look ridiculous.”

“You sound alright.”

“Thank you,” John says.

“Ready to add the snare?”

John shakes his head. “I’ve decided to become a simple drummer,” he says, bobbing his head to the beat. “I’ll handle this, you can take the rest.”

Roger laughs. “But if you add the snare, then on your off-beat you can do all sorts of tricks.” He takes drum stick out of John’s left hand and starts spinning it on his fingers.

John snorts and starts to giggle at the ridiculousness, but he still keeps time.

“If you two are absolutely done flirting with each other,” Freddie says, appearing front of them, “I do think we could get to practicing.”

John and Roger look at each other, and burst out laughing. “Okay, okay, give me those,” Roger says, taking his other drum stick back. “Out of my chair, Deaky.” He looks over at Freddie. “Can you believe Deaky wants to be the drummer now? Think he’s joined just to steal my spot.”

“Drummers are very popular,” Freddie says, watching John walk over to his bass. “Or so I’m told.”

“You were told right,” Roger says, smiling. He feels a bit uncomfortable saying it though, and glances over at John.

John makes a face, grabbing his bass, sliding the strap over his head. “I’m not really worried about that,” he says quietly.

“Ready?” Brian asks, standing up.

“Absolutely,” Freddie says.

John starts to strum the bass line for _Keep Yourself Alive_ , and Roger smiles.

Truthfully, it _did_ feel a bit like flirting to Roger. He didn’t even realize when he was doing it until Freddie pointed it out. It just came natural to Roger, Brian was always saying how shameless he was, but it felt extra-natural when he was talking to John. Roger feels a bit of a knot start in his stomach as he watches John play out of the corner of his eye. He shakes his hair back, trying to clear his head. They _weren’t_ flirting, Roger tries to tell himself. They were just being friendly. As friendly as Roger is to Brian and Freddie, that’s all.

John starts to play in front of Roger, and Roger just swallows hard. _Friendly_ , he thinks, but watching John…he’s not sure if that’s true.

\+ + + + +

Their second show together goes noticeably better. Freddie’s got the mic stand figured out, and he knows the lyrics this time. Roger thinks he’s still a _bit_ too enthusiastic on the tambourine, but at least John’s head isn’t at risk when Freddie’s wielding that. Roger thinks he and Brian are as good as they ever are; the songs are theirs, they know them by heart. He knows Freddie is itching to try the couple new songs they’ve been working on, but at their last practice, they all agreed they just weren’t ready yet. Freddie is determined though. He wants them to move on past Tim and start making their own music.

At practice again a few days later, Freddie purses his lips, strutting back and forth in front of the drums. “Roger,” he says suddenly, turning towards him.

Roger looks up from spinning his sticks, waiting for Freddie to continue.

“How high can you go?” he asks.

Brian and John both look over as Roger shrugs. Brian scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“What?” John asks quietly, glancing at Brian.

“He knows exactly how high he can go,” Brian explains, and goes back to tuning his guitar.

Roger grins at John, sticking the tip of his tongue out a bit with amusement. “Sure Freddie, what do you need?”

“I just think the song will sound a bit better with your range,” Freddie replies. “I’ll sing the lyric like I was, and then you come in right behind me, as high as you can go. It’ll be lovely.”

“How high _can_ he go?” John asks, leaning in a bit closer to Brian, not wanting Roger to hear.

“Ugh, please don’t ask him to show off,” Brian says. “His head’s big enough as it is, I can’t take it.”

“Sure, sounds alright,” Roger says, twirling his drum stick again. “You want to take it from the top then?”

“From the guitar solo,” Freddie says, pointing to Brian. “Alright?”

“Sure,” Brian says. He starts to play, looking and sounding like it’s absolutely effortless. Roger and John start, and Freddie nods his head to the beat, waiting to come in. He begins singing, and then John lifts his head when he hears a sound that for a moment he thinks is coming from Brian’s guitar, but it’s coming from Roger.

Freddie and Brian continue on like normal, but every time Roger opens his mouth to sing that high falsetto, John’s a little taken aback. In awe, really. It’s like he’s playing an entirely different instrument. John wonders if he looks as impressed as he feels, but he also knows his face always looks a little bit disinterested when he’s playing the bass.

They finish the song with a flourish, and John feels like they’ve actually accomplished something. He feels proud, even if they are really just a student band, playing in someone else’s practice space. 

Brian and Freddie walk off to talk about the song on their own, and John waits a moment before walking over to Roger.

Roger tosses his hair behind his shoulder, drumming absentmindedly, humming to himself. He watches John approach him, smiling. “What do you think?” he asks.

“It’s really good,” John replies. “Rog, your voice…” he trails off, shaking his slowly, smiling at Roger. 

“Like an angel?” Roger teases. When he laughs, he sticks his tongue out just a bit, biting down on it. 

“Well, I mean,” John says shyly. “I had no idea. You’re _really_ good.”

“He has to be,” Brian says from a few feet away, “otherwise I would’ve kicked him out years ago.”

Roger snorts and rolls his eyes. “Brian’s just jealous.” He shakes his hair back and keeps right on drumming.

“Right,” Brian says, rolling his eyes right back at Roger, turning back to Freddie.

“Deaky!” Freddie says suddenly, turning around. “Deaky darling, I have the most wonderful idea. I’ve been working on a song for awhile now. It could use you, your voice.”

John’s eyes widen and he looks at Roger, who’s smiling. “Oh, I— I don’t really know about that, Fred.”

“Why not?” Freddie asks.

“Uh, I don’t really sing, Fred,” John replies.

Freddie scoffs. “Ridiculous. You have a marvellous voice.”

John narrows his eyes, looking back and forth between Roger and Freddie. “You’ve never heard me sing before, Fred.”

Freddie shrugs. “That doesn’t matter. You’re a musician. I’ve heard you…hum, before. I’m sure you can do it. Roger’s voice is much too pretty for what I have in mind.”

Brian snorts, trying not to laugh.

“See, _some_ people appreciate me, Bri,” Roger says.

“What about Brian?” John asks, gesturing towards him with his bass.

Freddie glances at him. “Oh, his voice will be on it too, I’m sure.”

“Can I think about it?” John asks.

“I suppose,” Freddie replies. 

As Freddie turns back to Brian, John sighs heavily.

“What’s wrong?” Roger asks.

John looks down at his bass, plucking a couple notes, before swallowing hard. “I can’t sing like you.”

“Forgive me for sounding like a prick,” Roger says, “but most people can’t.” He smiles brightly to try to make up for sounding like an asshole.

John laughs softly at Roger, then takes a deep breath. “I mean, I can’t really sing at all.”

Roger finally stops on the drums, brushing his hair behind his ears. “Well,” he pauses to think for a moment. “That’s alright, isn’t it? You don’t see me playing the bass.” He decides not to tell John that he does also play the guitar, though. “Besides, you can’t be as bad as all that.”

“I am,” John says. “And I just— you’re all so good. People aren’t going to want to listen to me.” He rests his wrists on the body of his bass, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Roger isn’t sure what to say. Tim certainly never needed the confidence boost; he thought his voice and bass-playing were gifts to the band. Sure, Brian’s the quieter type, but he’s still confident enough in his playing that he’s never really needed Roger to talk him up. And he’s never really had to talk himself up either, as cocky as it sounds. But now John is in front of him, asking for validation, clearly feeling inadequate despite how amazing Roger thought he sounded on bass just a few minutes before. And he doesn’t know how to respond. And if he doesn’t say something quickly, he thinks, John is probably going to end up feeling like shit. 

“I think you’re amazing,” he says finally, his voice soft. He clears his throat, looking up at John. “And you don’t have to sing for it to be true.” He shrugs, offering John a smile. “Even if you never open your mouth on stage, your bass playing…come on, Deaky, you’re bloody brilliant.” Even after only two performances and a couple practices, Roger knows that’s true. 

John’s smiling, but staring down at the floor, unable to meet Roger’s eyes. Roger wonders if he’s said too much. Maybe he’s made John feel uncomfortable.

“If you’re okay with it, just try, yeah? Can’t hurt. We’re all friends here. And I’m sure you’re not that bad.” Roger stands up, sliding his drum sticks into his back pocket, and walks over to John, squeezing his shoulder. “Alright, yeah?” he asks, then walks across the room to Freddie and Brian.

John nods. “Alright,” he says softly, glancing back over his shoulder to Roger. He smiles bashfully, bouncing up and down on his feet a couple times before walking back to his amp.

\+ + + + +

“Deaky, I never knew you were such a dancer,” Freddie says, wrapping his arm around John’s waist as they walk off stage.

“Sorry, Fred, I just get a bit too into the music sometimes, you know?” John says.

“Oh heavens, don’t apologize for it. I love it. It makes me thinks you’re having a wonderful time.”

“Well, I am, Fred,” John says, stopping by the door. 

“Good!” Freddie says brightly. “So am I. We’re quite good, aren’t we?”

John laughs. “If you say so, Fred.”

“Well, I do, and I’m always right, so just embrace it.” Freddie turns back to Roger and Brian, who are following close behind. “Isn’t Deaky a marvellous dancer?”

Brian smiles, and looks at Roger. “Sure, Fred.”

“Shut up, Brian,” Roger says, elbowing him in the side. “I think you’re brilliant, Deaky.” He smiles at him brightly.

“I think we should go out for drinks,” Freddie says, looking around at the three of them. “Who’s with me?”

“We’re already at a pub, Freddie,” Brian says.

“Oh, this place? No,” Freddie replies, shaking his head. “No, absolutely not. We have to go someplace a bit nicer, I think.”

“I think this is fine, isn’t it?” Brian asks, looking between Roger and John.

“I wouldn’t mind going out,” Roger says, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket.

“Ugh, of course not,” Brian sighs. “John?”

John shrugs. “Uh, whatever, I suppose.”

“Then it’s settled!” Freddie exclaims. “He’s on my side, we’re going out.”

“And what are we doing with our instruments then?” Brian asks.

“God, Brian, you’re so dull sometimes,” Freddie says. “Do you want to go home?”

Roger smiles, taking a deep inhale of his cigarette. “He loves that guitar like a child,” he says. “Come on Brian, it’s not going to be ruined from a couple hours in the van.”

Brian makes a face, but after looking at his friends, he sighs. “A _couple_ hours,” he says warningly, “I swear, I love my guitar more than I like any of you.”

Roger claps Brian on the back. “Good, I like that guitar more than you too.”

“Ha ha,” Brian says flatly, and the four of them transport all their instruments out to the van, even Freddie helping out so that they can move along quickly. Roger gets behind the wheel, and lets Freddie direct him to a disco a short drive away. The four of them pile out of the van, and file into the disco, Freddie first, followed by Roger, John, then Brian.

“I’m going to get some drinks,” Freddie says, “find us a table?”

“I will,” Brian says, raising his hand, and he starts looking around, spotting an empty booth.

“Let me give you a hand,” John says, following Freddie to the bar.

Roger watches John and Freddie walk over to the bar, then takes out another cigarette and lights it as he and Brian sit down. “Good show, I thought,” Brian says.

Roger nods, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “It was.”

Brian leans forward. “Then why do you sound so sad?” he asks.

“I’m not sad,” Roger says, and he stretches his legs out under the table, resting his arm along the back of the booth. “Can’t I just be tired?”

Brian rolls his eyes. “Tired, right.”

“What does that mean?” Roger asks, looking over at the bar again.

Brian glances at the bar, and shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t think Freddie is John’s type.”

Roger freezes. “Sorry?” he asks, and it feels like his voice is about to break. How obvious has he been? He didn’t think at all, not since Freddie made the joke about them flirting.

“Oh, come off it, Rog,” Brian says. “You know what I mean.”

Roger swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry, and he shakes his head. “No, I don’t.” He taps his cigarette into the ashtray.

“Okay, fine,” Brian says, sitting back. “Fine.”

Roger shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His stomach feels tied in knots now. The two of them sit in awkward silence until Freddie and John appear, drinks in hand.

“Can I sit?” John asks, looking down at Roger.

Roger looks over at Brian, who’s watching them with a faint smile. “Yeah, of course,” Roger says, sliding over to make room.

“Here ya go, Fred,” Brian says, and he slides over as well. 

“I don’t know what these are,” Freddie says, gesturing to the drinks laid out on the table in front of them, “but they all sounded delicious.” He takes a sip of something.

“Are you sure you’re old enough to be in here, Deaky?” Brian asks with a grin, picking up one of the glasses.

John smiles and glances at Roger. “Well, nobody at the bar asked.” He chooses his drink, then Roger follows.

“Cheers to a marvellous show,” Freddie says, lifting his glass.

“Cheers,” John says, turning to all three of them.

Roger smiles and clinks his glass against the three of theirs, then takes a drink. He can feel the warm press of John’s body against his, their feet knocking together under the table. He takes another drink, watching Brian, who’s talking to Freddie. He turns to John, studying his profile, the length of his hair as it hits his shoulders. Roger takes a drag of his cigarette, and his eyes trail down the length of John’s arm, wearing his usual leather jacket, until he arrives at John’s hands, wrapped around his glass. Roger takes a drink, but he doesn’t look up, he’s still staring at John’s fingers when John laughs and turns to him.

“You alright, Rog?” John asks softly, and Roger jumps.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Roger says, and he smiles back at John. “Tired, is all.” He shrugs, and takes a drink.

“Don’t tell the others,” John says, and he glances across the booth at Freddie and Brian, then leans in closer to Roger, as if to whisper conspiratorially. Roger straightens up, and he can feel himself start to flush when John’s fingers tuck a piece of his hair behind his ear, and John’s breath on his ear. “But you do work harder than the rest of us.”

Roger immediately grins, and turns to John in surprise. John nods slowly and briefly closes his eyes. “Thanks, Deaky.” 

John claps his hand on Roger’s thigh a couple times, and then turns back to face Brian and Freddie.

Roger looks at the other side of the table, and sees Brian watching him again. Roger clears his throat, and finishes off his drink.

“Slow down, darling,” Freddie says, but he pushes another drink across the table towards him. 

Brian reaches out to take the glass instead, setting it near him.

Roger nervously drums his fingers against the tabletop, and he fights to resist the urge to grab the glass and throw it all back at once. “I think I need a breath,” he says suddenly, and turns to John.

“Oh, sorry,” John says, sliding out of the booth, stepping out of Roger’s way.

Roger hurries away from the table, pushing the door open loudly.

“What was that about?” John asks, turning to Freddie and Brian.

Freddie looks at the door to the disco, then turns to Brian as well.

Brian shrugs, then takes a drink. “Not sure, really,” he says, looking away from them. “Tired?”

Roger paces back and forth outside the disco, lighting another cigarette even though he’s just barely finished his first one. “Bloody hell,” he mutters, pushing his bangs back from his forehead, taking a deep, shaky drag of his cigarette. He looks back at the door, and feels like such a fucking idiot. Brian knows what’s going on, _clearly_. He doesn’t feel like he can face him at the moment. How the hell did he figure it out, before Roger even really figured it out for himself? Goddamn scientist.

A group of girls walk by Roger, going into the disco. He looks up to watch them, and sees a couple of them watching him back. He gives them a shaky smile, waving his cigarette at them, and then slumps against the wall when they walk inside. He taps his feet against the ground, and then drums his fingers against his thigh.

Freddie and John are chatting over the table, each with a cigarette in their hand. They’re distracted, and don’t see the bloke with the blond hair duck back inside, following after a group of girls that just walked in.

Brian sits up, tilting his head so that he can see over the crowd of people, wondering where Roger is off to. He can see him speaking to one of the girls, and then looks away when John smiles over at him. He feels uncomfortable, knowing that he’s hiding something from John. He lifts his glass to take a drink, but he’s startled when he sees Roger appear at their table, keys to the van in his hand. 

“Here,” Roger says, tossing them over to Brian. “Get your guitar home.”

“And where are you off to?” Freddie smirks, leaning back in his seat, looking behind Roger at the pretty girl standing a couple feet off to the side.

“Home,” Roger says, and he looks at Brian sharply. He’s avoiding looking at John, though.

“Fair enough,” Freddie says, and he takes a drink. “Sleep well.”

“Night,” Roger says, turning around quickly. The three of them watch him take the girl’s hand, leading her out the door.

“What a filthy minx,” Freddie says, grinning, looking at Brian and John in amusement. “We haven’t even been here 15 minutes.”

“That’s Rog for you,” Brian says softly. He curls his fingers around the keys. He can barely bring himself to look over at John, but he does. 

John’s still holding onto his drink, but his smile has disappeared. He’s frowning slightly, looking off to the side, not focusing on anything. He looks sort of lost, in a way, Brian thinks. And sad. When Brian picks the keys up to put them in his pocket, John startles, and looks up to meet Brian’s eyes.

Brian gives him a weak smile, and sighs. _Fucking hell, Roger_ , is all Brian can think.

\+ + + + +

John excuses himself from their next practice, telling the rest of them that he’s sorry, but he’s got an electronics project to work on. Freddie is more forgiving of John than he would be of Roger and Brian, but he still grumbles a bit about missing their bass player when they’re practicing. Brian just tries to explain the importance of academia, while Roger says almost nothing at all. Brian keeps watching Roger, trying to get some idea of what’s going on in his head, but Roger keeps his eyes cast off to the side for most of the afternoon, playing and singing without really interacting with them. Brian’s sure though, that at the next practice, Roger will be back to normal.

Roger doesn’t show up for the next practice.

“This is absolutely ridiculous!” Freddie exclaims when Brian walks in, explaining that Roger had just called him. “We have _four_ members, we can’t keep practicing with only three of us! No offence, Deaky, I understand you have other commitments.”

John looks up from quietly tuning his bass, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Roger’s sorry, Fred,” Brian says, setting down his guitar case. “Something about his mum.”

Freddie rolls his eyes, and sighs. He doesn’t believe it for a moment.

“Is she alright?” John asks, looking up again.

“Uh,” Brian pauses to think. That had been the story Roger told him, but he didn’t believe it either. He knows Roger better than that. He knows he’s pouting, and that he’ll show up to the next practice like nothing ever happened, just to make a point. “Yeah, I think so,” he says finally. “Not sure, a stomach thing? Might be contagious.”

John purses his lips and nods. “Right.” Brian doesn’t think he buys it either.

“Well, what the hell are we supposed to do without our _drums_?” Freddie asks.

“We’ve got perfectly good rhythm section right there, Fred,” Brian says, gesturing towards John. “We’ll be fine. Yeah, Deaky?”

“I’m going over to that boy’s house and if his mother isn’t dying, I’m dragging him back here,” Freddie says, twisting his hands around his microphone.

“Alright, settle down,” Brian says, raising a hand. “It’ll be fine, Freddie.”

“Am I the only one taking this seriously?” Freddie asks.

“Of course not, Fred,” Brian assures him. “We all do, we just…you can’t control everything, Fred. But I’ll speak to him. Later. Find out if he’s— if his mum’s alright.”

“Maybe I should go over there,” John says suddenly, and Brian immediately turns to him.

“No!” he says quickly, and both Freddie and John frown at him. 

“Why not?” John asks.

“I said I’ll talk to him. If his mum’s sick, we don’t all need to catch it. You’re too busy with your project, John.” Brian swallows and looks away nervously. He knows for sure now that John knows something is up, even if he hasn’t gotten it all figured out. “He’s fine, it’s fine.”

“But my project’s do—”

“How about we just get started, yeah?” Brian asks, speaking over him. “Is it _Liar_ , Fred, or…?”

“No, I’ve written something new.”

Brian sighs. “Of course you have,” he mutters

“Well, I don’t know how we’ll practice it without Roger,” Freddie says. “But I suppose we can try.” 

“All for it, Fred,” Brian agrees, desperate for them to start playing something, _anything_ , so they can stop talking about Roger. “You’ve got music?”

“Oh, lyrics, of course,” Freddie says. “And lots of ideas. Metal, I think. Lots of guitar.” He sighs. “And drums.”

“We can start without him,” Brian says quickly. “Give us a lyric.”

Freddie opens his mouth and starts to sing, walking back and forth in front of them; he can never stay still when he’s performing. Brian and John listen, nodding their heads along. Brian starts to strum as ideas come to him. John starts composing the bass line too, trying out a couple different ideas as Freddie goes through the lyrics, announcing to them where he had imagined solos.

Brian thinks he likes the song, or at least, he will. He likes the idea of what it’s going to become when they’ve all nailed their parts, and yes, when Roger is there with them.

“My vocal chords are desperate for a drink, just give me a moment,” Freddie says.

“What do you think?” Brian quietly asks John.

“Is his mum really sick?” John asks.

Brian is a bit taken aback. “Uh…well, that’s what he told me. Don’t know why he would’ve lied.”

John frowns, and looks down at his bass. “I think I know.”

“Oh?” Brian asks. John stands up suddenly, and Brian flinches, leaning away from him. John walks by him, and goes to Freddie, talking to him quietly. Brian nervously strums at his guitar, just imagining what the two of them are talking about. He looks back when John walks by him, reaching down to grab his case. “You alright?” he asks.

“I’m going home,” John says, carefully lifting the strap over his head. “Freddie too. No point without Rog.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s entirely true,” Brian says. “I mean, we’re all here, aren’t we? We can keep working on the song.”

“Deaky’s right,” Freddie says, thought Brian can tell he doesn’t _entirely_ agree. “It’ll be much better with Roger. We’ll just wait until his mum is better.”

“I’ll see you later,” John says, grabbing his case, and hurrying past the two of them out the door. It slams heavily behind him.

“What’s that about?” Brian asks, looking at Freddie in surprise.

“Oh, I absolutely shouldn’t say,” Freddie says, but there’s a glint in his eyes.

“Freddie.”

“Deaky’s a little upset that Roger skipped out today,” Freddie says quickly.

Brian looks away quickly. “Oh?” he asks, and wonders if his voice sounds as shaky as he thinks. “Well, John just missed himself! How can he be upset?”

“Do you know anything about that?” Freddie asks, leaning towards him.

Brian shakes his head. “Do you?”

Freddie narrows his eyes, looking at Brian suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

“I just…” Brian shrugs. “I only know what Roger tells me, Fred.”

“Right, and what has he told you? There’s something going on with our two youngest, Brian, I don’t know how you don’t see it.”

“They’re not children, Fred,” Brian says. “Whatever’s going on with them, they can sort it themselves.”

“So you _do_ think there’s something going on with them!”

Brian stands up, taking off his guitar. “Weren’t you leaving, Fred?”

“Not if you have some gossip for me, I’m not,” Freddie says with a smile. “You really don’t know anything?”

Brian shakes his head. He feels bad about lying to Freddie, but he convinces himself that it’s okay because he actually doesn’t know anything. Roger told him his mum was sick, just like John told them he was working on a project. No reason to think either of them were lying. At the disco, Roger denied Brian’s questions. Everything he thinks is just a guess. Guesses he feels _pretty_ confident in, but still, just guesses nonetheless. “I don’t know anything, Fred.”

“Well, give Roger a ring when you get home, will you?” Freddie asks. “I need to know how long we should be expecting to go without him for.”

“I’ll give him a shout,” Brian agrees. 

“Lovely, thank you,” Freddie says, heading towards the door. “Let me know what you hear.”

Brian waves him off, taking a deep breath as soon as he’s alone in the space. He feels infinitely frustrated with his friends. With Roger, in particular, obviously, but he thought that John would be a bit more mature about it himself. He sure as hell won’t be letting Roger skip another practice. Freddie will have his head before that happens.

\+ + + + +

Roger paces awkwardly near the door, lighting a cigarette.

“You’re behaving like a child,” Brian mutters. The two of them have already unloaded their instruments, and are waiting for John and Freddie to show up. They haven’t heard anything to suggest they’re not coming, but Brian’s still worried.

“Because I’m having a smoke?” Roger asks, frowning. He blows the smoke in Brian’s face.

Brian waves his hand through the smoke, glaring at Roger. “You’re nervous, you’re all over the place. If you’re trying to not be obvious…” He cocks an eyebrow. “Well, you’re failing.”

“Obvious?” Roger repeats. He taps the ash from the cigarette, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Ugh, fine, whatever.” Brian raises his hands in defeat, leaning against the wall beside him. “You know Rog, I am your friend.”

Roger rolls his eyes. He knows that. He really does know that. He also knows he should stop being such an ass to him, but it’s easier to be an ass than to tell him the truth. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops when he sees John’s car pull up. Freddie and John climb out, Freddie walking quickly ahead with his arms wide open.

“How lovely!” Freddie exclaims. “All four of us together again.”

“Can we get a move on, then?” Roger asks, dropping his cigarette and stubbing it out with his foot.

“Well, someone’s in a spectacularly bitchy mood today,” Freddie says, smiling. 

Roger sighs and pulls open the door, heading in.

“Alright John?” Brian asks, holding the door open.

“Fine,” John says flatly, walking by him.

“This is going to be fun,” Brian mutters.

“What are we playing on Saturday?” Roger asks, sitting behind his drums. “I hear you’ve got a new song, Fred.”

“Oh yes well, it won’t be done in time for that,” Freddie says, waving his hand. “But I would like you to have a listen. I’m imagining something quite spectacular on the drums.”

“Sure,” Roger nods. “Whenever you’d like.”

“Let’s run through the classics first, and then have a go.”

Roger smiles at the idea of them having _classics_ , but that works for him. He’s not in the right headspace yet, he needs to play something he knows. He needs to get into the rhythm. They easily play through their short setlist with no issues. Musically, at least. Though Freddie turns around to have fun with him a few times, John refuses to look at him, and Brian will only give him the occasional glance. _Is this how it’s going to be now_? Roger thinks to himself.

Freddie declares that it’s break time, before they start on new material, and Roger looks over at Brian, who’s watching him. Brian nods over in John’s direction a couple times. Roger shakes his head, but Brian widens his eyes a bit and jerks his head a bit more noticeably. Roger rolls his eyes, but he carefully pushes himself back from his drums, walking over to John, who’s sat down on a small stool. “Hey Deaky,” he says softly. 

John glances over at him, giving him a nod.

Roger turns back to look at Brian, who’s still watching him. “How’ve you been?” he asks, looking down at his hands, which are holding his drum sticks so tightly he’s got white knuckles.

“Fine,” John replies.

Roger bites down on his lip, and sighs heavily. “Um, I wanted to apologize for missing the last practice,” he says.

“How’s your mum?” John asks. He still won’t look at Roger, though.

Roger pushes his hair back from his face. He can tell John the truth, he _wants_ to tell John the truth, to clear the air, but then he’d have to tell him why he lied. Which will probably just require him to tell another lie. He sighs. “She’s fine,” he says finally.

“Good.”

There’s a piece of hair sticking out above John’s ear, where he’s got it tucked behind, and Roger wants desperately to reach out and fix it, but instead he just lights another cigarette. “I like that,” he says, gesturing towards John’s bass. “Is it for the new song?”

John nods.

Roger tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling. He clenches his teeth so he doesn’t end up groaning out loud in frustration. He takes a deep breath, and then a deep inhale of his cigarette. “Can you show me?” he asks, trying to sound normal.

John finally glances over at him again. Roger smiles, and then gestures back towards the drums. “To make sure I get it right,” he says. “Freddie will kill me if I don’t.” He’s joking, but he hopes that John doesn’t take that as invitation to keep ignoring him.

“Sure,” John says finally, standing up. He and Roger walk over to the drums together, and John positions himself in front of the kit.

“Hey, how did your project go?” Roger asks, taking his seat.

John shrugs, and starts playing the bass again. “It went alright, I think.”

Roger starts tapping on the bass pedal in unison with him. “I’m sure it was brilliant,” he says.

“Why didn’t you come to practice?” John asks, suddenly looking up to meet Roger’s eyes.

“Uh…”

“Because I really couldn’t come,” John says. “And I was sorry.”

“I— I know that,” Roger says. He hopes he’s convincing enough.

“So you weren’t trying to prove a point?” John asks. Roger just shakes his head. “I thought you were miffed at me.”

“No!” Roger says loudly. “I mean, no, of course not. Deaky. I…” He frowns, and takes one last drag of his cigarette before crushing it in his ashtray. He feels anxious all of a sudden. He knows he’s about to start speaking, and he just hopes to hell that it’s enough to end the tension between them. “I thought you were…I thought you were avoiding me first.”

John frowns, and stops playing while Roger speaks.

“So, yeah, I lied. My mum’s fine.” Roger swallows hard, and he has to look away from John. “I just thought you’d be happier if I wasn’t around.”

“Why?” John asks, taking a step closer to him. “Roger…”

Roger shrugs. “I felt bad about leaving early the other night, after our show. Figured you were right to be annoyed.” He starts hitting his snare. He doesn’t know what else to say.

John shakes his head. “I wasn’t,” he says. “You’re allowed to have fun without us. Besides, she was foxy.”

Roger looks away. He can’t talk to John about that. He feels guilty enough about it; almost dirty in a weird sort of way that he never has before. Roger’s never really felt bad for sleeping with girls, even if Brian likes to make fun of him for it. He’s had girlfriends before. But John’s right, when he doesn’t, why not have fun?

It’s just been harder for him to have fun since he’s met John. Without him, anyway.

“You alright?” John asks.

Roger nods. “Yeah, mate.”

John smiles shyly, then reaches out to gently squeeze Roger’s shoulder. “Don’t skip any more practices,” he says.

Roger laughs suddenly, and nods. “Don’t tell Fred?”

John nods back. “Mum’s the word,” he whispers, pressing his finger to his lips.

“Thanks,” Roger says, and then John steps back, quickly licks his fingers, and then starts to play again. Roger stares at John, momentarily distracted, then shakes his head. His stomach is in knots, but if there’s anything he knows, it’s that the drums will distract him, at least momentarily, so he starts improvising, humming loudly as he bobs his head.

John laughs, and then changes his rhythm, playing along with him.

Brian looks past Freddie to watch Roger and John, and smiles faintly. Roger looks up and catches his eye, and Brian gives him a nod. He frowns when Roger looks away, can see his cheeks starting to burn red, and just wishes he could help.

\+ + + + +

Roger takes a sip of water, watching John pace back and forth, nervously strumming his fingers against the body of his bass. “Deaky?” Roger asks, waving his hand to get his attention over the sound of the band currently on stage.

John looks up, gives him a curt nod, but doesn’t say anything, and doesn’t stop pacing.

Roger sighs, and looks around the small room, basically a closet, that the pub has stuck them in while they wait. Freddie is singing to himself, and Brian is distracted by his guitar, fixing something. He realizes it’s up to him, and stands up, walking over to John. “Hey, hey,” he says softly, gently grasping onto John’s wrist. “Mate?”

John meets his eyes, and then shakes his head.

He knows John was a little nervous before their first gig together, but even that wasn’t as bad as this, and he hasn’t seemed nervous since. 

“Hey,” Roger says, takes John by the shoulders, trying to hold him still. “Deaky, talk to me. What’s happening?”

John looks past Roger to Freddie, who’s practicing the lyrics to _Liar_.

Roger frowns in confusion, and looks back at John. “Did Freddie do something?” he asks.

John shakes his head. “I can’t do that,” he says softly, gesturing towards Freddie. “God, my stomach,” he mutters.

“John, what’s happening?” Roger asks again.

“Singing,” John says.

Roger sighs, squeezing John’s shoulder. He knew that John was nervous about debuting _Liar_ , the only song so far that required him to sing, but he didn’t realize it was _that_ bad. He seemed a little shy during practice, but nothing that suggested to Roger he was going to react like this. “Can I help?” he asks.

“How?” John asks.

Roger chuckles, and shrugs. “I don’t know, I was asking you. Do you want me to tell Fred you’re not doing it?”

John shakes his head.

“Okay. Do you want me to…” Roger pauses to think. “Go over the song with you now?”

John shakes his head again.

Roger laughs again. “Okay. Uh…you want me to go buy you a drink?”

“Would you?” John asks quickly.

Roger glances back at Brian and Freddie, and nods. “Come on.” He steps back and waits for John to take off his bass, then grasps his wrist, leading him towards the door.

Brian looks up, watching them open the door. “Uh, hello?” he says, waving his hand. “We’re almost on!”

“Just a minute,” Roger says, leading John out into the pub, straight to the bar. He sits John down at an empty stool, and then waves down the bartender. “Deaky?”

“Whatever you’re having,” John says softly, staring ahead.

“Two shots of whisky,” Roger says, leaning against the bar, studying John until their drinks are poured. “Here, cheers,” he says, handing John his shot. “Liquid courage.” He waits until John takes his drink, laughs at the face he makes, and then takes his own. “Another one?”

John shakes his head. “No, one’s enough for now.”

Roger laughs. “You’re a lightweight.”

John narrows his eyes at Roger and playfully pushes him. “Fine, another one!”

Roger bites his tongue playfully, and gestures to the bartender again. “You’re so easy,” he says, laughing. “Here,” he says, handing John his second shot.

John drinks it quickly, smiling proudly. 

Roger leans down, his hands on John’s shoulders. “It’s just a song,” he says. “And you have a lovely voice.” He rubs his thumb against the bit of John’s collarbone that’s exposed by the loose collar of his t-shirt. 

John looks down in surprise at the sensation, and then meets Roger’s eyes, shifting in his seat.

 _Did John just tilt his head?_ Roger thinks, biting his lip, then realizes he’s losing his goddamn mind. He straightens up, his hands dropping to his sides. “You’ll be alright, mate,” he says, nodding nervously.

John frowns. “Thank you,” he says, nodding back. 

“We should get back,” Roger says, gesturing towards the door.

“Right,” John says. He stands up, and Roger stumbles back against the bar, swallowing hard. John squeezes past him, and Roger watches him walk away, taking a few deep shaky breaths. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Stupid,” he mutters, shaking his hair back from his face. He looks up when he hears them announced, and watches John walk out of the room again, with his bass this time.

“What was that about?” Brian asks, walking Roger hurry over, following John up the small set of stairs. 

“Mind your business,” Roger snaps, stomping up the stairs, dropping down heavily behind the drum kit. It’s not his, which is frustrating enough, so he quickly has to make as many adjustments as he can while the other three set up.

“Alright then,” Brian mutters, moving to his place on stage, adjusting his microphone.

After the show, Freddie leaves the stage ecstatic at how well it went, his arm slung around John’s shoulders, telling him how well he did. Roger waves at the crowd and then side-eyes Brian standing next to him.

“What?” he asks sharply, trying to pull away from him, but Brian slings his arm around his shoulders, pulling him in.

“You’re still being too obvious, Rog,” Brian says quietly, gesturing with his guitar towards John ahead of them.

“Bugger off,” Roger mutters. He needs a cigarette. “What are you on about?”

Brian almost thinks he can’t believe that Roger’s still denying it, but then he remembers who he’s dealing with.

“Are we going out for drinks?” Freddie asks, turning around, pulling on his jacket. “Oh, Mary!” he says suddenly, waving his hand and walking past the guys as they walk into the small room.

“I could go for a drink,” Roger says, scratching the back of his head.

“Sounds fun,” John says, leaning against the door frame.

“Can’t we just stay _here_ for once?” Brian asks.

Roger shrugs. “Fine by me. Already started a tab.”

Brian sighs. “Course you have.”

“Who’s dancing?” Freddie says, appearing back at the door, his arm wrapped around Mary’s waist. “I’m dying to dance.”

“I don’t dance, Fred,” Brian says, shaking his head.

Roger takes a cigarette out of his jacket that’s currently on the floor, lighting it as he shakes his head. “Didn’t drink enough for that.”

“Deaky,” Freddie says teasingly, reaching out to him.

Roger inhales deeply, watching John sigh and smile shyly, taking Freddie’s hand. “Okay, okay,” John says. He glances back at Roger.

“Wonderful!” Freddie says, leading Mary and John out of the room. 

Roger looks down at his feet, crossing his arms. He feels out of place and lonely all of a sudden, even though Brian is still there with him.

“Can I have the keys?” Brian asks. “Want to run this out to the van.”

“Yeah, sure,” Roger says softly, grabbing the keys from his jacket, still on the floor. He tosses them over to Brian, and takes a seat at the small table set up there.

“Cheers,” Brian says, leaving Roger alone.

Roger takes a long drag, and leans forward, elbows on his knees. He loosely holds his cigarette between his lips, running his fingers back through his hair. He listens to the music for a minute or two, just sitting there with his eyes closed. He groans loudly and suddenly stands up, walking over to the door. He leans against the frame, scanning the room for John. He finds him, laughing loudly as Freddie spins Mary out, then Freddie grabs his hands and spins him too.

Roger chuckles softly, watching the three of them together. He’s not sure he can say that John is _good_ at dancing, but he looks like he’s having fun, and he certainly knows how to find the rhythm. He’s not much for dancing, that part was true, but he wishes desperately that he could go out there and join them. He wishes he could take John’s hand and pull him close, like Freddie’s currently done with Mary. He inhales deeply, slowly blowing out the grey cloud. He waves his hand, and tells himself the prickling in his eyes is just from the smoke. He stands there watching them until Brian reappears without his guitar. 

“You alright, mate?” Brian asks.

Roger sighs and brushes past him. “I’m getting a drink.”

Brian takes a deep breath, watching Roger squeeze his way to the bar. He can’t deal with him right now, so he heads towards John, Freddie, and Mary instead, no intention of dancing, but at least they can talk.

A couple of Mary’s friends were at the show with her, and the group of them stand together, catching up and smoking for minutes on end. One of Mary’s friends brings over some drinks, and they enjoy those too, Brian and John cheers-ing their show while Freddie gives Mary a big dramatic kiss on the cheek that makes her laugh loudly.

Once they start to dance, though, Brian raises his hands in defeat, ignoring Freddie’s pleas to stay on the floor with them as he slowly eases his way back to the bar. He stands behind Roger, clapping him on the back a couple times.

Roger jumps and glances behind him, groaning.

“Alright?” Brian asks.

“Fine,” Roger says, running his finger around the rim of the full shot glass in front of him.

Brian takes in the sight in front of him: Roger’s slumped over, a number of empty shot glasses already in front of him, and now he’s bringing another up to his mouth. “Jesus Rog, you need to slow down.”

Roger pauses, the drink halfway up to his mouth, and he turns to meet Brian’s eyes. Quickly, the shot is at his mouth, and he tosses it back. “Eugh,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

“That’s enough,” Brian says, taking the glass from Roger’s hand.

“Fuck off, Brian,” Roger says, and he drops his head in his hands, elbows propped up on the bar.

“You’re a disaster already.”

Roger snorts and rolls his eyes. “Just leave me alone.”

Brian squeezes himself between Roger and the person next to him, looking down at him. “What’s going on?” he asks quietly. He knows the answer, but he wants Roger to finally just _say_ it.

“Nothing.”

Brian shakes his head. “Come on, Rog.”

“ _Nothing_.” Roger jerks away from Brian, half stumbling out of his chair. He pushes himself up against the bar, and turns, scanning the crowd. He sees John standing next to Freddie, laughing loudly as someone Roger doesn’t recognize tells them a story. Roger’s stomach twists and he turns back to the bar, head hanging low. “Another one,” he says to the bartender, raising his hand.

“Roger, stop it,” Brian says, grasping onto Roger’s shoulders, but Roger just shakes him off.

“What?” Roger snaps. “I’m not allowed to drink any more?”

“Not right now you’re not,” Brian says.

“Piss off.” Roger heavily drops down in his seat again, leaning against the bar. He glances back over at John and Freddie, and then wipes at his face.

Brian turns, following where Roger was looking, seeing John and Freddie. When he glances back at Roger, he looks absolutely heartbroken, “Rog,” he says softly, “come on, let’s get you home, okay?”

Roger looks up at Brian. “Why?” he asks.

“Because you’re tired, mate,” Brian says, and he eases Roger out of his seat. Holding onto Roger’s waist, he digs into his pocket with his other hand and grabs a couple bills, enough to cover Roger’s drinks for the night, dropping it on the bar. “Come on.”

Roger stumbles a bit, leaning against Brian. “Why doesn’t he like me?” he asks, grasping onto Brian’s hand.

Brian swallows hard, looking down at their feet as he eases Roger out of the crowd. “You’ll feel better in the morning.” He guides Roger out the door into the cool night air, and takes a deep breath. “To the van,” he says, squeezing Roger’s hand.

“I think I lo—” Roger sighs, and his whole body feels heavy. He knows if Brian wasn’t holding him up, he’d just collapse onto the parking lot. He still has half a mind to wonder what the people watching them think. “Brian…”

Brian holds onto Roger as he gets out the keys, unlocking the passenger door. “In we go,” he says, helping Roger up onto the seat. He reaches over to buckle him in, then softly shuts the door. He hurries across to the driver’s side, unlocks his door, and climbs in. He looks over at Roger, who’s leaning against the door, head on the window, eyes closed. “Why doesn’t he like me?” he asks again, and he sniffles.

Brian takes a deep breath, resting his arm on the steering wheel. This is a Roger he doesn’t know how to deal with, one that he’s wholly unfamiliar with. He’s never known Roger to care _this_ much for someone else, and he’s certainly never spent time wallowing about if someone else likes him back. If Roger can’t have his first choice, he’s always just moved easily onto his second. What is he supposed to say?

“You wanna stay with me tonight, mate?” Brian asks, turning the key in the ignition. He starts to pull out of the parking lot, and then hears a loud bang. He jumps, and glances over. Roger is sitting up; the bang was the sound of his hand hitting the window. “Rog, stop it.” Brian tries to reach over, but he has to focus on the road.

“We can’t leave them,” Roger says too loudly, like he doesn’t know they’re no longer in the pub. He glances over at Brian.

“They’re alright,” Brian assures him. “We’ll see them later.”

“Yeah?” Roger asks, and he’s quieted down a bit, settling back against the door. “Promise?”

“Yeah, of course,” Brian says.

Roger’s quiet for the rest of the drive to Brian’s; so much so that Brian thinks he’s probably dozed off or passed out. He carefully eases the van up to the curb, trying not to disturb him. He gives his door a gentle push to close it, and then hurries over to Roger’s door. He slowly opens it, ready to catch Roger if he starts to fall out. Drunken, half-passed out Roger, he’s dealt with before. He’s got this, no problem. 

But Brian falters just a bit when he looks down at Roger, and realizes that he hasn’t been asleep, he’s just been staring out the window, eyes wet with tears. “Oh, Rog,” Brian says, and he crouches down, putting him face-to-face with him. “It’s alright, mate.”

Roger throws himself at Brian, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. It throws Brian a bit off balance, and he has to steady himself against the door. 

“Come on, let’s get inside,” Brian says, and he slowly stands up, helping Roger up with him. “It’ll all be better in the morning.”

Roger sniffles and stumbles on his feet. “It won’t. He— he still won’t— in the morning.” He squeezes his eyes shut, clutching at Brian’s chest. “Fuck.”

Brian pushes the van door closed and carefully leads Roger up to the front door. 

“I want another drink,” Roger mutters, waiting for Brian to unlock the door.

“That’s not happening,” Brian says, guiding Roger inside. “You’re going to bed.”

Roger snatches his arm away from Brian, stumbling away from him. “I know you’ve got something around here somewhere,” he says, heading towards Brian’s cupboards. Suddenly, he can walk straight again; he’s wide awake.

“Rog, knock it off.” Brian reaches out to grab him, but Roger shakes him off again. “Water, then bed.”

“Ugh, what is this?” Roger asks, grabbing a bottle of liquor from the cupboard, reading the label. “Whatever,” he mutters, trying to twist off the cap. 

“Roger!” Brian grabs the bottle from Roger’s hands, and just on instinct, holds it up as high as he can.

“Oh fuck off,” Roger says, tilting his head back to look up at the bottle. “Brian, fuck off and give me my drink.”

“Roger, stop behaving like a child and go to bed,” Brian says, stepping back when Roger makes a move to try to grab his arm.

Roger turns back to the cupboard, trying to find something else. 

Brian sets down the bottle down on a high shelf, then grasps onto Roger’s arms. “Come on, Roger,” he says softly, turning him around and leading him away from the cupboards. “Come on, I’ll help you get settled. I promise it’ll all be better in the morning.” He flicks on the light of his bedroom, and guides Roger to his bed, sitting him down on the edge of the mattress. “You gonna sleep in your jeans?” Brian asks. He kneels down in front of Roger, pulling off his boots, pushing them under his bed.

“Brian,” Roger says softly, and Brian looks up to meet his eyes. Roger reaches out, fingers lightly tracing over Brian’s cheek.

“Stop that,” Brian says, reaching up to grasp onto Roger’s hand.

“You love me, don’t you?” Roger asks. He doesn’t sound like he’s sure of himself; he sounds like he needs the confirmation. That somebody loves him.

Brian sighs, and pushes himself up. His first instinct is always to say that Roger is an annoying little shit, but yeah, the truth of it is, Roger is his best friend. He still thinks of the two of them watching the moon landing in his apartment the year before. Roger hadn’t cared nearly as much as Brian, but he was excited for him nonetheless. “Yeah, I do,” he replies. “Your hair’s a mess,” he says quietly, reaching out to push his hair out of his eyes. 

Roger reaches up, taking Brian’s hand. “Kiss me?” he asks hopefully, his eyes wide.

Brian snatches his hand back from Roger. “Rog, you’re my best friend, and you’re absolutely smashed. You’re going to bed, and I’m going to get you a drink of water.”

Roger collapses back on the bed, throwing his arms out. 

“I’ll be right back,” Brian says, keeping his eyes on Roger until he’s out of the room, hurrying back to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. When he gets back to his room, Roger’s curled up on his side, his arms wrapped around Brian’s pillow.

“Here, have this before you fall asleep,” Brian says, crouching down beside the bed, holding the glass up to Roger. “It’ll help.”

Roger weakly lifts his head, opening his mouth. 

“There we go,” Brian says, tilting the glass. A lot of the water doesn’t end up in Roger’s mouth, it runs down the glass and drips onto Brian’s bed, but Brian makes sure he gets most of it.

“Where will you sleep?” Roger asks, snuggling into the pillow.

“I’ll be alright,” Brian says softly, brushing Roger’s hair off his forehead. “You need it more than I do.”

As if on cue, Roger loudly yawns, his eyes drifting shut.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Brian continues, and he slowly stands up. He grabs his blanket from the end of his bed, and carefully eases it over Roger.. “G’night, Rog,” he whispers, watching him for just a moment longer before shutting off his bedroom light, pulling the door halfway closed behind him. 

Brian groans and pushes his hands through his hair, looking wildly around his apartment. He doesn’t know what to think. He walks over to his couch and drops down. He sighs, and then grabs one of the pillows, wrapping his arms around it. He kicks off his clogs and then brings his long legs up onto the couch, curling up on his side. Fuck, it’s going to be a long night.

\+ + + + +

Roger’s eyes slowly open. He feels heavy. Still a little dizzy. He lifts his head, blinking as he tries to figure out where he is. He realizes it’s Brian’s room, and his head drops back down. He groans and he rolls onto his back. He’s staring at the ceiling as everything that happened the night before comes rushing back. He squeezes his eyes shut, absolutely mortified.

He hears a creak outside the room, and lifts his head again. He slowly sits up, and sees a glass of water that Brian left him sometime during the night. He takes a small drink, then realizes how absolutely thirsty he is, and quickly chugs it down. He scrubs at his face, and then drops his feet to the floor. He slowly stands up, and walks out into the kitchen. He sees Brian quietly walking from his bookshelf to the couch, a thick book in his hands.

Roger takes a deep breath. “Hi,” he says, walking to the sink with his glass.

Brian looks up in surprise. “Good morning,” he says, dropping his book onto the couch, walking over to Roger. “I wasn’t expecting to see you up until much later.”

Roger yawns loudly, nodding. “Me either.” He shakes his hair out of his eyes. “Thanks for everything, Bri.”

Brian nods, and then shrugs. “No big deal.”

Roger can his feel his stomach start to twist, and he’s not sure if it’s from being sick or embarrassed. “Thanks for not kissing me,” he says quietly, averting his eyes.

Brian chuckles. “I wasn’t going to mention it; I thought maybe you forgot.”

“Yeah, well, not my finest moment, so cheers,” Roger says, turning back to the sink, refilling his glass. “God, can you imagine?”

“I’m not going to mention any of it,” Brian says. “To anyone.”

Roger rolls his eyes. “You’re not going to run to Deaky and tell him I made a complete ass of myself because I got pissed?”

“Well, I think it’s a bit more than you drinking too much,” Brian says. 

“It’s not.”

“Rog, come on. Why are you lying?”

Roger leans against the counter, crossing his arms. He looks away from Brian, staring down at the floor. 

“Do you think I care if you fancy boys?” Brian asks. “I mean, hell Rog, you’ve slept your way through all the girls at uni, it was inevitable.” He sees Roger flinch, and he immediately regrets it. “Fuck, okay, that’s not what I meant. I just—”

“No, it’s fine,” Roger says, pushing himself away the counter. “Roger, biggest member of them all, right? Fucks anything that walks. I get it, I get it.” He starts looking around. “Where are my boots?”

“Are you in love with him?”

“What? No!”

Brian looks at Roger expectantly, and crosses his arms. “Care to try again? Because you were telling a different story last night.”

Roger glares up at Brian, and then pushes past him.

“Because if you are, I don’t care,” Brian says, following Roger to his room. “I _really_ don’t.”

“Brian, just give me my fucking boots.”

“And I know Freddie won’t care, I mean…” he trails off. It’s obvious to everyone that Freddie’s a bit more on the flamboyant side, even if he is dating Mary.

“And what about Deaky?” Roger snaps. “You think he’s going to be happy to hear that a bloke likes him?”

Brian frowns for a moment, thinking of the look on John’s face when Roger left the disco with that girl. He’d been sad, Brian knew that for sure. But besides that, Brian really doesn’t think John is the type to get upset about it, and even if he didn’t have feelings for Roger, he’d never make Roger feel bad about it. “I don’t think he’ll be unhappy,” he says finally.

“Oh, fucking brilliant,” Roger mutters, and he moves past Brian again, back out into the hall.

“What?” Brian asks, following him. “Rog, I’m not gonna lie, I have no idea if John is gay or not, but— but that shouldn’t stop you! You can still tell him how you feel.”

“And break up the band?”

Brian sighs. “The band isn’t going to break up because you have a crush on John.”

“Brian, how long did it take us to find a great bass player?” Roger asks. “We can’t lose him! And— I’d rather just shut up about it than have Deaky quit on us because he thinks I’m a pervert.”

“If he doesn’t think you’re a pervert yet, Rog, it’s not going to happen.”

“Jesus, you’re just _full_ of jokes, aren’t you?” Roger spins around to face Brian, pushing his chest. “Christ, Brian, you don’t— you don’t get it!” He quickly turns back to the counter and grabs his glass, throwing it against the kitchen wall.

Brian flinches, jumping back from the glass as pieces of it scatter on the floor. “Roger, you need to calm down!” Saying it though, he knows it’s pointless. Roger has thrown a few tantrums since they became friends, and there isn’t really anything Brian or anyone else can do to calm him down, they just have to wait it out.

Roger starts pacing back in front of Brian, muttering to himself. Brian thinks he might be watching Roger have an actual breakdown. Roger pushes his fingers through his hair and is about to scream, until Brian reaches out to grab his arms, pulling him into a hug. He forces Roger into it, holding him close and not letting him go even as Roger tries to fight it, even when he can feel wet, hot tears start to soak into his shirt.

“Explain it to me,” Brian says softly. “You’re right, I don’t get it, explain it to me.” He looks down, trying to avoid the glass, since neither of them are wearing their shoes, and it’s the last thing he needs to deal with right now.

“Why doesn’t he like me?” Roger asks, voice muffled by Brian’s shirt.

“I don’t know,” Brian replies. “Have you asked him?”

Roger snorts, but then there’s a pause, and he shakes his head. “I— I thought it was obvious, and he—” 

“He’s also 19, and has no idea you like men,” Brian interrupts. “How many girls have you hooked up with since he joined the band? Can’t really blame him if he hasn’t noticed, can you?”

“I’ve never liked another bloke before, Brian,” Roger says, and his voice breaks at the end. “And I’ve never liked anyone like Deaky.”

Brian smiles. “Maybe that’s a good thing. He’s a bit smarter than the girls you usually bring around, isn’t he?”

“I’m so fucking scared he’s going to— what if he quits?”

“He won’t.”

“What if he calls me a _poof_ and punches me in the face?” Roger asks.

“Well, he bloody well not, or I’ll punch him right back,” Brian says. “Plus I can’t imagine John Deacon hitting _anybody_ , so I think you’re alright.”

“Ugh, it’s fucking stupid anyway,” Roger says, pushing himself back from Brian, wiping at his face. “What? I’m— I’m going to confess my love to him and what, we— we go on a date? God, Brian, it’s not even bloody legal!”

Brian swallows hard. Honestly, it hadn’t even crossed his mind, but Roger is absolutely right. John won’t be 21 for over a year. If anybody found out…well, Brian didn’t plan on telling anyone, and certainly Freddie never would, but what if a pub owner heard? Or John’s mum? Christ, Roger and John thrown before the courts for buggery, it was almost enough to make him laugh, if it didn’t make Brian feel so ill. Certainly he can’t say anything to make Roger feel better about _that_.

So he decides to go for flattery instead. It’s always worked before.

“What’s going to happen is, you’re going to go up to him, and you’re going to,” Brian waves his hand around, “bat your pretty eyes, or do whatever the hell it is you do that I surely don’t understand.”

Roger scoffs and rolls his eyes, but he has to bite down on his lip to keep from smiling. 

“Honestly, I have no idea how it works,” Brian continues, smiling. “But it works. Or so I’ve heard.”

Roger sniffles and wipes at his face, but he can’t stop smiling now. “It didn’t work on you last night.”

“I’ve been around you too long, I’m immune to your charms,” Brian replies. “Plus, you didn’t bat your eyes.”

“Shut up,” Roger says, pushing Brian, but this time it’s more playful.

“You’re just going to tell him,” Brian continues. He shrugs. “Just… _hi John, it’s me, Rog, I think I fancy you, care for a drink?_ ” It’s a piss-poor imitation of Roger’s voice, and Roger starts to laugh at him.

Roger walks away from Brian, standing at the sink, hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Sorry I’m such an asshole,” he says quietly.

“Pardon?” Brian asks.

“I said I’m sorry,” Roger repeats, head hanging low.

“Sorry, still can’t hear you,” Brian says.

“I said I’m sorry!” Roger yells, turning around to see Brian grinning at him. “Ugh, fuck off,” he says, laughing. “And find me my fucking boots so I don’t cut myself on your floor.”

“Uh yeah, you can go find the dustpan,” Brian says, turning around as the phone rings loudly. “It’s by the door,” he says, walking over to the wall, picking up the phone. “Hello?”

Roger glances up, carefully walking over to the door, opening the small cupboard, grabbing the broom and dustpan. He looks back and forth between them, and frowns. 

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that mate, something came up.”

Roger walks back into the kitchen and looks around at the glass, and then back at the broom. He drops the dustpan on the floor, and then starts to awkwardly sweep the glass towards it.

Brian turns to watch Roger, frowning as he watches him try to figure out the broom. “ _What are you doing_?” he mouths at Roger. “Uh, I think that should be alright,” Brian continues, speaking into the phone. “No, no need, he’s here, actually.”

Roger looks up and drops the broom. 

“Yeah, that’s fine, see you then.” Brian hangs up, and turns back to Roger. “Jesus Christ, Rog, have you ever even seen a broom before?”

“Who was that?” Roger asks.

“That was Freddie,” Brian replies, leaning down to pick up the broom. “He wanted to know why we left him and John at the pub last night.”

“Is that it?” 

“Well, uh, no,” Brian says, sweeping up the glass. “We’re having practice today, apparently.”

“No, we are fucking not!” Roger snaps.

Brian makes a face, and nods. “Well, uh, we are. Freddie says we deserve it for abandoning them."

Roger scoffs, and puts his hands on his hips, tapping his foot. “Well, we— Brian, I am _not_ playing today.”

Brian straightens up, and takes the glass over to the dustbin, tipping it in. “Well, you are.”

“Brian!”

“ _Roger_!”

Roger glares at Brian, still incessantly tapping his foot. “And what am I supposed to say?”

Brian shrugs his shoulders. “About what? We left early, who cares.”

Roger takes a deep breath. “You’re not going to say anything?” he asks.

“I am not getting involved,” Brian says. “Well, any more involved than I am right now. Trust me.” He tilts his head and gives Roger a small smile. “You’re lucky I put up with you.”

“You’re lucky to have me.”

“Well, agree to disagree,” Brian says, and he pats his pockets, looking around for the keys to the van. “You can drive. My back is still a bit sore from last night.”

Roger rolls his eyes, taking the keys. “It’s not my fault you slept on the couch.”

“Sorry, was there another drummer passed out drunk in my bed?” Brian asks, putting on his clogs. “Must’ve missed that.”

Roger sighs. “Alright, I’m sorry you had to sleep on the couch. I’m not drinking today, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Thank god for small blessings,” Brian says. “Ready?”

Roger looks around Brian’s kitchen. “Not even a little bit, but you won’t let me get out of it, so let’s just go, alright? Before I call Freddie back and quit this fucking band.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Rog,” Brian says.

“Fuck off, don’t tempt me.” Roger takes a deep breath. “Brian?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Roger looks up at him and meets his eyes for a moment before awkwardly looking away.

“You’re welcome, Rog,” Brian says, clapping him on the shoulder a couple times. “Your boots are under the bed.”

Roger rolls his eyes, and heads back into Brian’s room.

\+ + + + +

Brian carries his guitar and amp into the practice space, and then goes back out to the van to help Roger with his drums. That’s the first sign to John and Freddie that something is up between the two of them, because Brian almost never helps. John watches the two of them carry the drums in together, and gives a polite nod to Roger as he starts setting up his kit.

Roger swallows hard, but nods at John with a shaky smile. He reaches down to light a smoke, letting it dangle out of the corner of his mouth.

Freddie gives him about 10 seconds before he heads straight over to Brian. “Did the two of you sleep together?” he asks.

Brian’s hands freeze where he’s tuning the guitar, and stares at Freddie in shock. “Sorry, what?” he asks.

“You know,” Freddie says, glancing over at Roger, making some sort of crude gesture with his hands that distracts Brian. “Well, if you didn’t sleep together, then why did you leave together last night? And he was still with you this morning?”

Brian has no idea what to say. Because he can definitely see how it sounds. He glances over at Roger, who’s completely engrossed in his drums, and then at John, who’s sitting quietly by himself, watching Roger. Brian says, and grasps Freddie’s arm, dragging him just a few feet away. It’s not really enough to make a difference, either John or Roger could still very well hear them, but it makes Brian feel a bit better. “No, we didn’t sleep together,” Brian says quietly. He sighs. “It’s not me that Rog has a thing for.” Freddie’s face lights up. He dramatically gasps and turns around, before Brian grabs his arm again. “Don’t say a word,” Brian say carefully.

“But—”

“ _Please_ ,” Brian says quietly, glancing over at Roger and John to see if they’re paying any attention. “Fred, Rog will kill me.”

“Brian,” Freddie says, “if Rog has a thing for Deaky, then we simply must help! Young love and all that.”

“No, we can’t,” Brian says. “Fred, Christ, you didn’t see him last night. Okay? He’s a bloody disaster, and I promised him I wouldn’t say anything. I can’t get involved.”

“Well, I didn’t promise him anything,” Freddie says. “Besides, they’re my friends, I want to help.”

“Fred,” Brian says, and he still hasn’t let go of Freddie’s arm. “Behave.”

“I’m always on my best behaviour,” Freddie says.

“Oh Christ,” Brian mutters. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Just— no. Forget it. Roger and I didn’t sleep together. I slept on my very small couch. That’s _all_ you know, alright?”

Freddie pulls his arm out of Brian’s grasp and turns back to look at Roger and John again. Roger has started drumming, practicing _Liar_. John stands up and walks over to the drum kit, standing in front of Roger as he starts to practice the bass.

“Are you alright?” John asks quietly, watching Roger, only occasionally glancing down at his own fingers.

Roger spins his drum stick and looks up at John, nodding. His mouth immediately goes dry. “Ye— yeah,” he says softly. He clears his throat. “I’m alright.” He reaches up to take his cigarette out of his mouth.

“I was worried last night,” John says. He glances over at Freddie and Brian. “Well, Fred— Fred and I both were. You just disappeared.”

“Oh.” Roger can feel his stomach starting to twist. Is he sweating? Because he feels like he’s sweating. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, I just…it came on really quickly.”

“You were sick?”

Roger nods. “Yeah, a bit. We should’ve said something, though. You made it home alright?”

John nods back. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Roger smiles. “Good, I’m glad.” He swallows hard, unsure of what else to say. Should he say anything? He looks past John to where Freddie and Brian are standing. He immediately looks away; he knows they’re talking about him. He can’t say anything now. He just turns his focus back to his drums.

John glances over to Freddie and Brian again, then steps closer to the drums. “Roger, is everything okay?”

“Brilliant,” Roger replies, shaking his hair back. “You alright?”

John nods. “Yeah, I’m fine, but—”

“Let’s quit the chitchat and start practicing, shall we?” Freddie says suddenly, grabbing his mic and walking over to the two of them.

“Ready, Freddie?” Roger asks.

“Always,” Freddie says, glancing back and forth between the two of them. “Are you?”

Roger shrugs. “Yeah, I’m good.” He puts his cigarette back in his mouth, inhaling deeply.

“Good.” Freddie spins around, and starts clapping his hand against his mic stand.

Roger sighs heavily, shaking his head, immediately catching up to Freddie’s rhythm. John smiles at Roger, who can’t help but smile back, even though now he does really feel sick.

\+ + + + +

“I’d kill for a drink,” Roger mutters after they finish practice.

“Ah,” Brian says suddenly, straightening up.

Roger sighs. Right. Not drinking today, dammit. He regrets that promise already.

“I wouldn’t mind grabbing a bite to eat,” John says suddenly, looking around the room.

Brian and Freddie glance at each other. “Uh, I’m…due at my parents,” Brian says slowly. “Sunday dinner thing.”

“I have plans with Mary,” Freddie says, smiling.

“Roger?” John asks hopefully.

“Uh.” Roger looks past John to look at Brian, who’s nodding quickly. “Yeah?” he says. “I mean, yeah, okay. Sounds good.”

“Wonderful!” Freddie says loudly. “I mean, I hope the two of you have a lovely time.”

“Should we load the van now?” John asks.

“Uh, sure,” Roger says.

“We’ll all help,” Brian says, “quicker that way.”

“Do you need a drive somewhere, Brian?” John asks.

“Oh, no,” Brian says, shaking his head. “My father…and I’ll walk. Uh, home.”

“Lovely, Brian,” Freddie says, walking over to the drums, looking around. “How can I help? Let’s get you two out of here.”

Roger cocks his head and looks over at Brian, who just shrugs, and mouths “ _sorry_ ” at him. “Yes, let’s,” he says flatly.

\+ + + + +

The pub is usually bustling, but they also usually go a bit later. Right now, it’s John and Roger, and just a handful of other small groups. They’re at a small table against the wall, and it’s quiet enough that they can be quiet as well. Not that Roger has any interest in speaking right now anyway; he has no idea what to say. Which is ridiculous, he knows; there’s no reason for them to be awkward, because Roger hasn’t said or done anything yet. John has no idea what Roger feels for him. But still, he’s drank two glasses of water already, and their waitress just gave him a third. God he wishes he was actually drinking.

John lifts the bun on his burger to squirt some ketchup, and then dips a chip in it before offering the bottle to Roger.

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” Roger says softly, taking a bit of fish.

John taps the bottle a few more times, getting more than enough for his chips, then smiles politely before taking a bite of his burger.

Roger watches John for a few moments, then clears his throat and looks away when John looks up. He shifts in his chair, wishing it were a bit more comfortable. Wishes _he_ were more comfortable. He doesn’t know how long he can let this go on for. Finally, he’s had enough. John is his friend, he was polite enough to ask him to lunch, he’s going to say _something_.

John has the same idea.

“I love _Modern Times_.”

“How’s uni?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Ha, sorry,” Roger says, smiling. “How’s Chelsea?”

“Oh, it’s brilliant,” John says, taking another bite, nodding. He chews for a moment, and swallows hard. “It’s something I’d always wanted to do. Maths and physics were my favourite subjects at school.”

“Good, good,” Roger says, and he takes another bite of fish, then grabs a couple chips. “That’s…”

“Good?” John interrupts him, grinning wide.

Roger chuckles. “Brilliant. You’re brilliant with electronics. If we ever get in a studio, I hope you do all the recording.”

“I’d like that,” John replies. “A lot, really. It means a lot that you’d say that.” He tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, taking a long drink of water. He wipes at his mouth with a napkin, and smiles. “I really like _Modern Times_ ,” he says again.

“Oh, thanks, mate,” Roger says. He smiles across the table at John. He feels a bit more comfortable now. He has to remember, he has no reason to feel nervous. They’re just friends. That’s all John knows. And Roger can be okay with that. Brian’s wrong; Roger doesn’t have to say anything. “I appreciate that. I know it’s not really the band’s style—”

“I think everything we do is our style,” John says quickly. “That’s the point, right? We’re not one thing?”

Roger’s still smiling. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re exactly right, I like that.”

John smiles back, then shyly looks away.

Roger straightens up in his seat. “Everything okay?” he asks.

John nods, looking back. “Yeah, I…I’m really glad you came with me today, Rog.”

“Thanks for the invitation,” Roger says. “I’m sorry Brian and Fred were busy.”

“No, I’m— I mean, I like spending time with them and all, but I’m glad they were.” John swallows hard. “To be honest, I felt like you were avoiding me; I was worried I’d done something wrong.”

“No, you haven’t,” Roger says quickly, leaning forward a bit. “Not at all.”

“And then when you and Brian left early last night, I thought—” John frowns. “Well, Freddie said— it’s quite dumb, actually.”

Roger starts tapping his foot nervously, and drumming his fingers against the table. His stomach has gone a bit sour. “What did Freddie say?” he asks, trying to sound casual, but his voice sounds awkward to his own ears. He shakes his hair back a bit.

“He said he thought you and Brian were,” John trails off and flits his fingers about, “you know. Together.”

Roger can feel his hands start to shake. He curls one hand into a fist, trying to hide it from John. He reaches out for his glass with the other, but immediately regrets it, since he can’t hold his hand still. “What?” he says in disbelief. “Me and Brian? Not bloody likely.” He takes a quick drink of water. God, his stomach is nothing but nerves. Is it warm in here all of a sudden?

“Because you don’t fancy blokes,” John says, and Roger has to look away under the weight of his stare.

“Uh,” Roger reaches up, scrubbing at his face, then goes back to drumming his fingers on the table. This is it. If he doesn’t say it now, he doesn’t think he’ll ever say it. “Because I don’t fancy Brian,” he says finally. He clears his throat, staring down at the table.

“Oh,” John says softly, then he says it again, as if finally realizing. “ _Oh_.”

“I’m sorry,” Roger says quickly, and he reaches out to take John’s hand but then he remembers that he can’t do that, and it would only make things worse, so he drops back in his seat. 

“Why?” John asks.

“For not telling you,” Roger replies. He still can’t look at him.

“You didn’t have to,” John says. “We haven’t really known each other for that long, and I— well, I never asked.”

Roger picks up his fork, and starts picking at his fish, but he’s lost all his appetite. He drops the fork, flinching at the noise it makes against his plate. “I’m sorry,” he says again quietly.

“I don’t mind it,” John assures him, leaning forward in his seat. “If that’s why you’re upset, I— I don’t care at all.”

Roger finally looks up, sees John’s attempt at a reassuring smile, and then looks away again. He’s still lying to him, and he can’t handle John being so caring and supportive right now, knowing that he’s not being completely honest.

“It’s no big deal,” John continues. “It doesn’t change anything between us, you know that, right?”

Roger blinks quickly and swallows hard, past the growing lump in his throat. “I thought it would,” he says, his voice raspy. 

“Don’t be silly,” John says. He’s trying to be friendly, and supportive, but he has no idea if it’s working, because Roger still looks unhappy.

“I told Brian I was scared you’d quit,” Roger continues. He’s getting closer to the truth of it now. He never thought John would quit just because he found out he fancied men; the idea of it is absolutely ridiculous, and John has to know that. He knows John is going to wonder why Roger was so scared, but he also can’t make himself shut up. “That’s— that’s why we left last night. I drank too much and got upset. Bloody disaster.”

“God, Rog, I wish you could’ve told me,” John says. He leans further in, so that they can keep talking quietly; he doesn’t want to draw too much attention to them. “I’m not quitting. I love playing with you. I know I’m the new one, but you’re all my friends now. I wouldn’t— god, Rog, have I said anything to make you think that? I’m sorry if I have.”

Roger sniffles and looks away. He tries to wipe at his eyes, but it feels so obvious, like everyone in the pub will know. He’s sitting in a pub, in front of the guy he thinks he loves, and he can’t stop crying. He feels like a fucking idiot. “No, no,” he says, and his voice doesn’t even sound like his now, it’s so rough and low, “not at all.”

“Then why?” John asks.

Roger shakes his head, then pushes his bangs back from his eyes. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not.”

Roger sniffles again, and wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. Great, he’s fucking falling apart. “I don’t just fancy blokes,” he says suddenly, before he can stop himself.

“Well, I…assumed,” John says. “All those girls—”

“No,” Roger says quickly. “I mean, I _do_ fancy girls too, but I don’t fancy blokes.”

John looks at Roger in confusion, tilting his head to the side a bit. “I don’t quite understand. I thought you just said—”

“I just fancy one,” Roger replies. He looks down at the table, then back up at John to see if he understands. John doesn’t say anything, and Roger decides not to wait around for it to happen. He pushes his chair back and digs into his pocket, pulling out some money.

John stands up too, reaching out to grasp onto Roger’s hand. “Wait, Rog.”

“No, I’m sorry, John,” Roger says, slipping a couple bills under his water glass, and grabbing his sunglasses. He hurries to the door of the pub, heading towards his van until he realizes, _fuck_ , he’s got John’s bass and amp with him. “Fuck,” he mutters, pausing for just a moment to glance around. He sees John leaving the pub, hurrying after him.

“Roger,” John says, a bit out of breath. “Come on mate, we can talk.”

“About what?” Roger asks. He reaches into his pocket to grab his keys, sliding them into his hand. “It’s alright, yeah? Take the van, get yourself home.” He turns and starts walking down the sidewalk.

“Roger,” John says, looking down at the keys. “I’m not taking your bloody van, come back.” He grabs onto Roger’s arm, but he shakes him off. “Roger, _please_.”

Roger meets John’s eyes, and John seems so desperate for him to stay, he almost does. He gives him a weak smile, and then turns away. Brian’s flat isn’t too far away; he just hopes that John doesn’t follow him. He sniffles loudly and squeezes his eyes shut. He should’ve just kept his mouth shut.

\+ + + + +

“Fuck, you are so bloody dramatic, Roger,” Brian says, crossing his arms and leaning back against the sink.

Roger’s got the bottle of liquor from the night before, his fist curled around it, the cap off, but he hasn’t started drinking yet. He’s just staring at it, because he knows once he starts, he won’t be stopping, and honestly, the idea of it makes him feel kind of ill. “You didn’t see him,” he says quietly.

“I didn’t have to,” Brian says. “Roger, you’re _overreacting_. You gave him your keys and abandoned him on the streets. You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“I couldn’t be there anymore,” Roger says, and he runs a finger around the rim of the bottle. “You think I don’t _know_ how dumb I am? But it was leave or—”

“Stay, and actually try to have a conversation?” Brian interrupts him. When Roger glares up at him, Brian just tilts his head and shrugs.

“I’ve never been so embarrassed,” Roger mutters, and he finally brings the bottle up to his mouth. He gags a bit on it, his stomach hasn’t settled enough for this. 

Brian pushes himself off the counter and walks over to the kitchen table, and takes the bottle from Roger. “You promised no drinking today.”

“I lied.”

“I don’t even know why you’re embarrassed,” Brian says. “No, scratch that, I know why you _should_ be embarrassed, because you’re out there behaving like a bloody child, I just don’t know why _you_ think you should be embarrassed. You didn’t throw yourself at him, or tell him he’s an idiot for not being with you. You didn’t whip out your cock, last I heard. All you did was…just _barely_ hint at the fact that you fancy him. Christ. Roger Meddows Taylor, head as big as my flat, can’t handle that? Well, I never. You’re lucky I don’t throw you out on the streets. Did you even let him say anything?”

Roger stares down at the floor, saying nothing, until he finally shakes his head just once.

Brian throws his hands up in exasperation. “Roger, I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do with you. What did he do?”

Roger shakes his head again. “Said he wanted to talk. Tried to get me to stay.”

“Oh, and you thought, _not bloody likely, I’m going to run off to Brian’s and drink myself to death instead, cheers_.”

“If I don’t talk to him, then I can’t hear him say no,” Roger says. 

“Do you ever think that maybe he wouldn’t?” Brian asks. Roger glares at him in return. “I’m not joking. Christ, how can you be so clever, and so stupid.”

“I didn’t come here to be insulted.”

“Well, you had to know it was a possibility.” Brian pulls out the chair next to Roger, sitting down. He brings his hand up, fingers tapping on his chin. “Rog, I’m going to be honest here.”

Roger scoffs. “You’re just starting now?”

“You are going to talk to him. Actually talk to him. And _if_ he turns you down, you can come back here crying to me. I’ll give you this bottle and whatever else you want, you can get pissed and break all my dishes, no complaints.”

Roger swallows hard, drumming his fingers on his lap. “I can’t.”

“If you’re not going to actually talk to him, then we’re done, Rog,” Brian says. “You’re gonna get over it, start behaving like an adult, and go back to your own flat. I’m always here for you, mate, but I’m not going to take care of you because you won’t bloody talk to him.” He stands up and walks over to the counter, grabbing the cap for the liquor bottle. He peers out the window above the sink, and then slowly twists the cap back on. “Though you’re going to have to decide sooner, rather than later, I think, Rog.”

Roger sniffles. “Why?”

Brian turns around. “Because your van is parked on the street, and I’m guessing Deaky is on his way up right now.”

Roger stands up quickly, his chair clattering back against the wall. “I can’t, Bri, I can’t, okay?” He can hear the desperation in his voice.

There’s a knock at the door, and Roger and Brian both turn to stare at it. Roger takes a couple steps back, and Brian holds his hand up, walking over. He unlocks the door and opens it just a crack.

It’s John, standing there in his leather jacket, Roger’s keys in his hand, looking up at Brian. 

“Deaky,” Brian says quietly. “Hey, mate.”

“Have you seen Rog?” John asks.

Brian takes a deep breath, trying to decide quickly if he can lie to John. Turns out, he can’t. “Yeah, he’s here,” Brian says, and he steps back from the door as he opens it wide.

Roger’s mouth drops open in shock. He can feel his eyes immediately filling with hot tears. He feels betrayed.

“Roger,” John says quickly, stepping inside. Roger automatically takes a step back. “I’m— I’m glad you’re here,” John says, and he takes another step towards him. “I brought your keys. Van’s out front. Dropped my bass off at the flat, thought…well, thought Brian would know where you were.”

Brian looks over at Roger, who’s staring at John, breathing heavily with nerves. “Well,” Brian says, taking the keys out of John’s hands, “I’m going to duck out for a bit. Give you both a chance to _talk_.” He grabs his jacket off the hook and meets Roger’s eyes. He pats John on the arm as he walks by, and pulls the door closed behind him.

Roger looks away from John, who’s just standing by the door, hands in his pockets. This isn’t what Roger is good at. It’s easier for him to throw tantrums, or just ignore things until they go away, instead of actually talking about them. He knows that won’t work with John, though. He supposes that’s one of the things he actually really likes about him. He swallows hard, nervous. “I’m sorry I left,” Roger says finally. And he is, so it’s relatively easy to say. Easier than the rest of it.

“Is that it?” John asks.

Roger finally looks at him. That wasn’t really the response he was expecting. “Uh, no, I guess not?”

“Good,” John says, and he just shakes his head. “You can keep going.”

“Jesus, I can’t catch a break, can I?” Roger mutters to himself, but John hears anyway.

“You ran out on me, wouldn’t let me say a word, abandoned me with your van, and _you_ can’t catch a break?” John says in disbelief. “Christ, Roger, are you bloody serious?”

Roger flinches, and shakes his head. “No. I feel awful for what I did.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

Roger’s mouth goes dry. He has so much he wants to say, but he can’t get any of it to come out. And he knows John is nice, but he doesn’t think he’s that patient; eventually, John’s just going to decide Roger isn’t worth it and leave. “Because I really like you.” That doesn’t even begin to sum it up, but it’s all Roger can force himself to say.

John snorts and rolls his eyes. He shakes his head. “Yeah, we’re such good friends, aren’t we, you can’t even bloody talk to me.”

“I’m not good with…” Roger sighs and gestures between them. “This.”

“Conversation?”

Roger can’t help but smile for a moment. “That’s what Brian tells me, yeah.” He pats his pockets, looking for his cigarettes, but he thinks he left them in the van. “It’s hard for me. And it’s harder because…” he trails off. “Because I know how you’re going to react and I just don’t want to hear it.”

“You _don’t_ know how I’m going to react,” John says. “You won’t let me say anything! _Say_ something!”

“Fine!” Roger says. He groans and pushes his fingers back through his hair, starting to pace around. “Fine. Fuck, John, you’re…brilliant, and fucking beautiful, and…” He looks over at John, who’s just watching him. “I’m so fucking glad you’re in our band, and I’ve never had feelings for someone who counted before, someone that I would actually— it would kill me if we fell out, if things went to shit between us. Because I do _really_ fancy you, I think I lo—“ He stops himself, and sighs. “It doesn’t matter though, because I’d rather be your friend. I don’t expect you to fancy me back and I _really_ wish you did, but I’m happy we’re friends. And instead of just acting normally, I fucked it all up.” He drops down heavily in his chair, and leans forward, his head in his hands. God he’d murder for a smoke. 

“Is that it?” John asks again.

Roger scoffs and lifts his head in disbelief. “Is that it?” he repeats. “Yeah, I guess that’s it. That’s all of it. The whole bloody mess.”

“So, just to confirm,” John says, and he starts walking back and forth across Brian’s kitchen. “I’m brilliant and beautiful and you’re in love with me, and instead of just _fucking telling me_ , you hid it from me for god knows how long, kept sleeping with girls, and then assumed _I_ didn’t fancy _you_?”

Roger sighs. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

John rolls his eyes, then walks over to Roger. He crouches down in front of him, and reaches up to push his hair back from his face. “You’re a bloody idiot.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I’d tell you how much I fancied you if I wasn’t so bloody angry with you right now.”

Roger looks up to meet John’s eyes, his mouth dropping open in surprise. “You _what_?”

John rolls his eyes and smiles, tangling a lock of blonde hair around his finger, tugging playfully. “Roger Taylor, brilliant, beautiful, voice of an angel.” He snorts with laughter. “I’ve been staring at you since I joined your stupid band. Hoping maybe you’d notice me. Figured you didn’t. Usually too quiet for that sort of thing. It’s why I’m always alone.”

Roger smiles, and reaches up, taking John’s hand. “You’re not really that quiet,” he says.

“Compared to you three, I’m a bloody mute,” John says. “I _wanted_ to tell you. I thought about it, the night you took home that girl. I thought— well, I thought I was being obvious. And then you ran out. Figured it made you uncomfortable, so I stopped.”

“So you fancy me?” Roger asks.

John shakes his head and stands up. “No, I said I’m angry at you.”

“But before that—”

“You ran out on me,” John says. 

“But—”

“So you should apologize.”

Roger stands up and hurries to John, taking his hands in his. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Deaky. For all of it. Not just today. For everything, since you joined. I’ve been an ass. I should’ve just told you how I felt, or I should’ve just…Brian’s right, I was acting like a child. I got upset that you didn’t care about me, but I never told you I cared about you, and I never did anything about it. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

John takes a deep breath, frowning. Roger waits, hopeful. “I can,” he says finally. “Because you’re my friend. And because I wasn’t exactly honest about my feelings either."

“Thank you,” Roger says, and he drops John’s hands, taking a step back. “That’s all I really wanted, really. I told Brian last night, I was so scared that I’d tell you the truth and you’d hate me for it. I’d rather die than not have you as a friend.”

“I’m your friend,” John says. “But I’m still angry.”

“I’m angry at myself, so that’s fair enough,” Roger says, smiling.

“So I’m going to go,” John says.

“Oh,” Roger says, a bit surprised and feeling let down. “Oh, right.”

“I’m glad we talked, though.”

“Me too.”

“And when I’m done being angry with you, I’ll give you a ring.”

Roger smiles. “Yeah?” he asks.

John smiles back, and nods. “Yeah. I think I'll let you take me out.” He walks over to the door, hand on the door knob when he pauses. 

Roger takes a step towards him, wondering if he’s alright, but he doesn’t say anything.

John turns back to him, a big smile on his face. “I’d let you walk me home if you wanted,” he says. 

“As friends,” Roger says.

John shrugs. “If that’s what you want.”

Roger takes another step towards him. “Well, whatever you want, Deaky.”

John looks away, still smiling, starting to blush. “I don’t know,” he says softly. “I kind of like the idea of you kissing me.”

Roger grins and is quickly at the door, pressing John against it. “I thought you were angry with me,” he says softly. Their mouths are close together, and they’re both smiling. 

“I am,” John replies, and his lips brush against Roger’s as he speaks. “You’re an ass.”

Roger nods. “I know.”

“And you better not think that just because I’m letting you kiss me that I’m okay with you being an ass.”

Roger shakes his head, and reaches up to tuck a piece of John’s hair behind his ear, kissing his cheek. “I don’t.”

“You need to learn how to talk to me.”

Roger nods, and his cheeks start to flush, he feels hot with embarrassment and guilt. “I know that too.”

“So next time you want to tell me something, are you going to drink too much and cry to Brian, or are you going to tell me?”

Roger pulls back a bit, and meets John’s eyes. “I’ll tell you.” 

John smiles, then tilts his head, and _finally_ they’re kissing, Roger can’t even believe it, he breaks into a grin. John chuckles and moves his hands to Roger’s hips, pulling him in, and kissing him a bit harder. Roger takes John’s face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over his cheekbones, and as soon as John takes a breath, Roger’s tongue is in his mouth.

John jerks back, head hitting the door, breaking the kiss.

“Sorry,” Roger says quickly, pulling back.

“It’s okay,” John assures him. “Just a surprise.”

“Please tell me that wasn’t your first kiss, Deaky.”

John blushes and shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t.” He looks down shyly. “Would it be alright though, if it was?”

“Yeah, of course,” Roger says, and he presses his lips against John’s forehead, then tilts his head, moving down to John’s cheek, and back to his mouth. They kiss again for a few moments, and Roger can barely contain his excitement.

“Because it wasn’t,” John continues, when they break apart again, “but…” He shifts against Roger. “There would be…other firsts.”

“Yeah?” Roger asks, and he can’t even help it, he licks his lips. He feels downright predatory. “That’s okay.”

John nods. “I’ll be bloody clueless.”

“Even better,” Roger says, kissing him again. “It’s not like I’ve been with a bloke before. We’ll learn together.” 

“I like the sounds of that,” John says.

Roger bites down his lip. He wants to stay here, right here, pressed up against John, until the world ends. Or, at least until Brian comes back to his flat and interrupts them. But he knows distracting John with his mouth won’t change anything; he knows beneath it all, John is still a bit annoyed with him. Knows they can’t keep kissing instead of talking. “We should get you home, then.” He takes a couple steps back, straightening out his clothes.

“Okay,” John says softly, and he smiles, then turns to open the door, stepping outside. 

Roger tugs the door closed behind him, and they walk down the stairs together. They’re mostly quiet for the walk to John’s flat. Roger somehow feels infinitely lighter, but like he still has a huge weight in his stomach. John knows. That’s good. But John is still angry with him, and Roger feels like absolute shit because of it. He wishes he could apologize enough to fix it.

As they walk up to John’s flat, Roger reaches out to grasp John’s hand. “John?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” Roger says again. 

“I know,” John says, smiling, and squeezing Roger’s hand.

“I lied to you, and I didn’t give you the opportunity to tell me how you felt, and I left you,” Roger continues. “And I’m sorry. So, I get it if you don’t talk to me for awhile.”

John smiles and nods. “Good.”

“But not _too_ long?” Roger asks hopefully.

John shrugs. “We’ll see. I’m going to talk to Freddie about it first.”

“Freddie?”

“He’s the one who told me I should ask you to the pub today,” John says.

Roger opens his mouth in shock. “Are you joking?”

John shakes his head. “I think it was after my…third practice that I told him how much I fancied you?” He smiles. “I’m going to see what he says about it first.”

Roger smiles back. “Fair enough. You should know, Brian knows. He— he figured it out, actually.”

John nods. “That’s alright.” He looks up to his door, then back at Roger. “I’m going to go in now, alright?”

“Yeah, alright,” Roger says, taking a step back. “I’ll see you at practice on Tuesday?”

John nods. He takes a couple steps towards his flat, then turns back and gives Roger another kiss. “See you on Tuesday,” he says, pulling back.

Roger reaches up to touch his lips, as if in disbelief. He smiles. “Bye.”

John turns and walks up to his door, waving behind him. Roger bites his lip, trying not to grin, and starts the walk home.

\+ + + + +

Roger’s curled up in bed napping when he hears his phone ringing. He pushes his pillow off his head, looking around. He’s sees his clock, it’s just after 7:30. He groans, and then pushes himself onto all fours, awkwardly stumbling off the bed. He walks into the kitchen, scratching at his stomach as he picks up the phone. “‘lo?” he asks, yawning loudly. “Bri?”

There’s a laugh on the other end. “Sleepy?” John asks.

Roger straightens up, trying to wake up quickly. “Hi!” he says. “Um, no? Well, yes. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“That’s a shame,” John says. “Maybe I should let you sleep instead.”

“No!” Roger says quickly, and John laughs again. “No, I’m free. Why did you call?”

“I wanted to let you know that I talked to Freddie,” John says.

“And?” Roger asks hopefully.

“He says that I should stop being angry,” John replies.

Roger smiles, leaning against the wall. “And?”

There’s a long moment of silence. “I thought about it.” 

Roger waits for him to continue. 

“I’m still thinking about it,” John says finally.

“Oh. Okay.”

“But so far, it’s looking good.”

Roger chuckles softly. “I’ll take that.” He pauses. “Are your flatmates home?”

“They are.”

“Oh.” Roger twirls the phone cord around his finger. “Do you want to come over?” he asks finally.

“And let you take advantage of me?” There’s a long moment of silence, and then John starts to laugh again. “I have class in the morning.”

“I won’t take long.”

“I bet you won’t.”

Roger laughs this time. “Will you call me tomorrow?” he asks.

“If you’d like.”

“Yeah, I would,” Roger says. “And then I’ll see you Tuesday?”

“Of course,” John replies. “I’m not quitting. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Okay,” Roger says. “Have a good night, John.”

“Good night, Rog,” John says, and then the phone clicks.

Roger hangs up, and closes his eyes, leaning against the wall with a big smile on his face. He walks over to his refrigerator and pours himself a drink, and walks back into his bedroom. He sets his glass down and crawls back into bed, just as there’s a loud bang on his door. He shoots up, wondering if it’s John. He doesn’t even bother to get dressed as he hurries to the door. “Oh.”

Brian rolls his eyes, pushing his way into Roger’s flat. “Nice to see you too, Rog. I’ve brought your van.”

“Oh, thank you,” Roger says, taking his keys.

Brian looks around, taking Roger in, his messy hair, and the fact that he’s only wearing his underwear. “Do you have someone here?” he asks.

Roger looks around and shakes his head. “No, I was just in bed.”

Brian glances at his watch. “Early.”

Roger shrugs. “Tired.”

“Well, you need to drive me home,” Brian says.

Roger presses the heels of his palms against his eyes and groans. “Can’t you just take the van?” he asks. “Or walk? Bri, I was just about to go back to sleep.”

“Nope,” Brian says, crossing his arms and leaning against Roger’s door. “Come on, I don’t want to drive this thing around anymore. How many people have driven the van today alone?”

“Ugh, fine, just give me a minute,” Roger says, walking to his bedroom and grabbing a shirt and jeans. “Okay, we can go,” he announces, walking out of his room. He sees Brian smiling at him, and narrows his eyes. “What?” he asks.

Brian shrugs. “Nothing.”

Roger sighs, sliding on his boots. “Then come on.”

“How’s John?” Brian asks.

Roger bites his lip, and smiles, looking over at Brian. “Who told you?”

Brian shrugs. “A little birdie.”

“Ugh, Freddie,” Roger says, stepping out of his flat. He yawns loudly, glaring at Brian. “I could be in bed right now.”

“If you’d behaved like an adult this weekend, you could be in John’s bed right now,” Brian says, and he laughs as Roger spins wildly, hitting his arms repeatedly.

“It’s not like that,” Roger says, walking down to his van.

“What’s it like?” Brian asks, opening the door and climbing in.

Roger pulls the door closed behind him, sticking the key in the ignition, and shrugs. “Not like that,” he says softly. He smiles, pulling the van into the street. “You don’t have anything to say?”

“What’s to say?”

“I don’t know, but you always have something,” Roger says.

Brian shakes his head. “I’m happy for you, Rog.”

“He’s still mad at me for leaving him today,” Roger says, glancing over at him.

“That’s alright,” Brian replies. “I’m still happy you told him. Even if he punched you in the face and quit the band.”

Roger grins and reaches out to grab Brian’s knee, shaking his leg playfully. “God, you really like me, don’t you?” he asks, laughing when Brian jerks away from him. The van is quiet, and Roger starts to feel a bit more awkward. “You do, right?” he asks. “Even though…”

Brian reaches over to grasp Roger’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Even though.”

“Thanks, Brian.”

“If you haven’t gotten rid of me yet, it’s not happening.”

Roger laughs softly. “Thanks, Brian,” he says again.

\+ + + + +

Roger paces back and forth across the room, his hands in his hair.

“Roger, calm down,” Brian says softly, holding his hand up. The drums and guitar are already unloaded and set up, and the two of them are now just waiting for John and Freddie to show up.

“I’m fine,” Roger says, but he knows that’s not true. Knows it’s obvious, too.

Brian gives up, and takes a seat, softly starting to play.

Roger’s head jerks when he hears the slamming of a car door outside, and he backs up, hurrying across the room to get to his drum kit. He almost stumbles on the bass pedal, and Brian is stifling his laughter as the door opens.

“Hello!” Freddie says, bounding into the room. “Boys!”

“Fred,” Brian says, giving him a nod.

Roger tries to not look too eager, but he shifts on his seat, looking past Freddie to the door.

“Just a moment,” Freddie says, leaning towards Roger with a smile.

Roger nervously smiles back, and nods. A few seconds later, John comes in, bass and amp in hand.

“Hi,” he says, nodding at Brian as he walks by.

“John,” Brian says.

John smiles at Roger, walking over to set up his amp.

“Hi John,” Roger says, and he wonders if he sounded as dumb as he feels.

“Hi Rog,” John says.

Freddie grins, and looks back and forth between them. “Young love!” he announces loudly.

Brian ducks his head, laughing. Roger clears his throat and looks away, and John starts to blush, plugging in his bass.

“Should we write a song about it?” Freddie asks.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Fred,” Roger says, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about it. 

John strums his bass a couple times, then walks over to Roger, standing in front of his drum kit. “Hi,” he says softly.

Roger stops drumming, and smiles up at him. “Hi,” he replies. “How are you?” he asks.

John just nods. “Good.”

“Good.”

Freddie walks over to Brian, keeping his eyes on the two of them the entire time. He nudges Brian until he finally looks up from his guitar and watches them too.

“I was wondering if you were free sometime this week,” John says, nervously shifting on his feet.

Roger nods eagerly. “Sure. Did you have something in mind?”

John shrugs. “If you don’t want to it, it’s okay, but there’s a film playing near my flat tomorrow that I wanted to see. But if you’d rather—”

“No, that sounds brilliant,” Roger interrupts him. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“Okay,” John smiles. “Do you want to come ‘round tomorrow around 7:00?”

Roger nods. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay.” John smiles and takes a step away from Roger, then awkwardly steps back. Roger looks up at him expectantly, but John just laughs and then walks away again. Roger smiles over at John, and gives him a wink. John smiles, and shyly looks away.

Roger hears a giggle from the other side of the room. “Are you two having fun?” he asks, turning to Freddie and Brian.

“Oh, of course,” Freddie says, “this is absolutely riveting.”

Brian snorts, trying not to laugh. “Come on, Fred, get yourself together. We need to practice.”

“Deaky darling, what is this film you’re seeing tomorrow?” Freddie asks. “I’d just love to come with you.”

“Sorry Fred,” John says, “it’s just me and Rog this time.”

“Well, I do hope you’ll at least call me afterward,” Freddie says. “I’d love to hear all about it.”

“Freddie!” Roger says loudly, looking over at him.

“What?” Freddie asks. “I’m talking about the film.”

Roger rolls his eyes and smiles, spinning his drum stick.

John glances over at Roger, who just shrugs. He turns to Freddie. “Sure, Fred. I’ll call.”

Freddie smiles and claps his hands together loudly. “Perfect! Shall we get started then?”

Brian suddenly plays a loud note, causing the other three to flinch. “Yes, can we?” he asks, exasperated.

“Ready, Freddie.” Roger smiles, and looks over at John, who’s smiling back.

**Author's Note:**

> Starts immediately after the first gig we see them play in _Bohemian Rhapsody_ (before it goes to One Year Later). This is based more on the timeline/characters as they're presented in the movie, instead of the timeline and personalities of the actual band Queen, so please no angry emails. 
> 
> The plan was for this to just be a relatively short story to get Roger and John in bed with each other; I can't believe it turned into 21,000 words and it doesn't even have any sex. There will have to be more in the future because I need these two to sleep together.


End file.
